


The Great Escape

by flippyspoon



Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, All the Hopper & Billy father/son bonding you can handle, Angst, Drama, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: Hopper's been in a cell in Kamchatka for three months. He's got a routine and he takes it one day at a time.And then a certain blonde bad boy from Hawkins shows up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I caved. Fuck me, I hope I finish this.  
I AM FLIPPYSPOON ON TUMBLR AND I HAVE A HARRINGROVE SERVER IF YOU'RE 18+. So come talk to me there if you like <3.

_ Kamchatka, USSR _

_ November 10, 1985 _

Hopper had made up a routine for himself after his third week in the cell and now he scratched a little tick mark on the wall, as he sat up from his sleeping mat with a groan. That was after the third time they’d given him a good going over, drilling him on the subject of the gate before apparently deciding they needed more information before they’d even know what to ask him. Something like that. He wasn’t actually sure. He still didn’t speak Russian, and that’s what they spoke when talking to each other and not to him. He’d picked up a few phrases here and there. He was pretty sure he knew the word for “food” and “question” and “doctor,” but only when he heard them. He wouldn’t have been able to repeat them for love or money.

After the third time he’d been shoved back into his roomy cell (he was a Very Important Prisoner and thus deserving of both a blanket and a little more space than most), Hopper had realized he’d been moping a little too much.

His flank was badly bruised, and a tooth was loose. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck. He’d been living on small portions of food three times a day for the last four months or so, since waking up to find himself in Russia rather than, well, dead or in the Upside Down. He still had no idea what had happened exactly. He had a theory that both he and the Soviets had disappeared through a gap in the Gate after Joyce had blown the device and they’d taken him with them and they’d come out into the Upside Down. He suspected there was some other Gate from there they’d known about all along. But he didn’t _remember_. He also suspected they’d erased a few memories somehow or else something natural had busted his brain up. He’d lost a few weeks at least. He remembered Joyce’s beautiful face, her big sad eyes disbelieving. Then...suddenly it was August, he was told, and he was a prisoner in Kamchatka, eating cold, gritty swill and either sweating bullets or freezing to death. He’d scratched those tick marks on the wall to keep track of the days after hearing that first date in August. 

The tick marks were perhaps the first part of that routine he’d cut out for himself.

He marked the day and then he got up and stretched. He’d never been too great with exercise. But there was little else to do in this place. He’d lost a chunk of weight already, eating small portions of food he hated. He’d lost so much weight he hardly recognized himself. He wasn’t skeletal. In fact, he looked more like he had just a few years ago, long before he’d gotten fat and happy while looking after El. But he had nightmares sometimes that he was wasting away; becoming too lean like those demogorgon sons of bitches. So now he stretched and then he followed a strict regimen of jogging in place, jumping jacks, push-ups, crunches, and pull-ups from a pipe suspended over his head in the cell. If he’d had a belt, he could have hung himself from that pipe. Instead, he was wearing the standard-issue elastic waist gray pants and shirt they’d given him, his canvas shoes not keeping his feet very warm this far into November and this close to the Arctic. But he had never considered hanging himself, or not seriously. He had not been there in Kamchatka nearly long enough for something like that. He still dreamed of a way out. Because there was El to get back to, and there was Joyce. Not that he knew how they’d faired. But he had to believe they were safe. It was all he had to hold on to now.

“Goddamn…” His muttered obscenities that echoed in the cell as he ran in place, working himself up into a sweat. The prisoners were rounded up for showers every four days. Jim’s shower was private (VIP and all). “Goddamn it to hell…” He switched to jumping jacks. He wasn’t wheezing at all when he went through his little exercise routine now. He’d improved a lot already. His muscles felt a little tighter than they had. That was something.

He was pretty sure the Soviets had one of those monsters; one of those demogorgons. He didn’t know Russian, but he’d heard prisoners scream and he’d just had a feeling...He’d heard a word over and over that was almost like the word for “man” with something else added to it. He wondered if it was “monster.”

It was a theory he’d come to believe anyway.

The guards had given him a few other things, at least for passing the time. He was issued a pack of cards to play with, and sometimes he got a newspaper in English that was always weeks old and came out of Moscow. It all read like propaganda. He wasn’t even sure what to believe from it, but it was something anyway.

They gave him cigarettes and books of matches with the understanding that if he started a fire in his cell, it was only going to kill him in the most agonizing way possible. There was one guard who was friendlier than the others. More lenient. That was Sergei. Sergei usually supplied the cigarettes. Jim hoarded them like gold and smoked just a few drags at a time. He had a nice stock of them now. He didn’t even know what he was saving them all for at this point. Every couple of weeks, they took him out to the yard, which was awful and freezing but still outdoors. He liked to smoke there.

After his exercises, the guards brought his breakfast, sliding it through a slot in the wall on a tray. It was bad, in that it didn’t taste like anything and at first had been almost inedible. It was, at best, lukewarm. Sometimes there was potato in it. It was sometimes thick and sometimes watery and always lumpy. He had never tasted meat, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t meat in it. He tried not to think too much about the ingredients. He’d become used to it by now anyway. Eating it was still a chore, but he could hold the stuff down well enough.

After his exercises, Hopper folded his blanket and laid it on the floor and sat on it, his back straight against the wall as he laid out cards for solitaire. He played five different types of solitaire. It was part of his routine. He’d play two games of each type. He tried to solve every single game no matter how long it took before going to the next. But sometimes you just got stuck in solitaire. Sometimes you were trapped. Trapped like a rat.

The first time he had found himself stuck on a game of solitaire, he’d screamed like a child and thrown his cards around and curled up in a ball and sobbed. He’d felt ridiculous after that. It had only happened the one time. After that, he promised himself; no more fits. He was a man. He’d act like one.

The solitaire often took up a sizeable chunk of the day. Some games were harder than others. He’d get stuck and try to work through his mental song catalog while he strategized.

Today’s musical selection began with “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.” He sang and thought of when he’d dance for El and she’d shake her head and laugh at him and they’d play Sorry together. He thought of when he’d go to Joyce’s place just to shoot the shit and they’d smoke and listen to Dylan. It made his heart hurt, but the memories were little treasures. Sometimes he thought back to entire days in Hawkins trying to remember every little detail as well as he remembered the lyrics to his songs.

“Goddammit,” he muttered again now as he bit his lip, regarding the line of cards. He wanted to get to the eight of clubs but-

The startling jangle of keys outside his door made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was not yet time for lunch and it wasn’t shower day so they must want to interrogate him again, he thought. They hadn’t gotten _very_ rough on him yet, or at least not bone saw rough, but it had come close. He was considered too important for that, but it could change. He wasn’t actually important. He wasn’t important at all. He was the chief of police from a podunk town in Indiana and he had no powers like El and nothing at all to-

“...Amerikanskiy…” 

That was him, he thought, as they opened the door. Against his own will, he scooted back into the corner, as if he had a choice in the matter if they wanted to take him. He narrowed his eyes, readying himself for a fight he would lose.

But instead, they completely ignored him. They had a man between them who looked half-conscious. They were dragging him inside. He wore the prison-issue clothes and his greasy, blonde curly hair was cut around his shoulders. Hopper couldn’t see his face. 

Hopper said, “What-”

One of the guards snapped at him in Russian. Jim had no idea what he’d said. They set the guy down in the opposite corner. The cell was big enough that there were about seven feet between them. The guy was slumped over in the opposite direction as if he couldn’t keep himself up. He looked like he was sleeping.

“Sedative,” he was pretty sure a guard had said.

The two guards looked at each other and laughed before leaving, shutting the door with the thundering slam that always worked on Hopper’s nerves.

“Nice to see you too,” Jim muttered.

The prison in Kamchatka was a political one. At least that was the impression Jim got. It had top-secret types like him; people who were definitely not supposed to be there. But it also had some political prisoners. That meant the place was packed. It was also massive. Jim was tucked away in a dark and obscure corner of the place. He could see why they’d stick another prisoner in with him.

This introduced an entirely new element into his carefully cultivated routine.

On the other hand, if the guy was American...that could be useful.

When the guards had gone, Jim abandoned his game of solitaire for the first time in three weeks and scooted over to the slumped figure in his baggy, olive green canvas tunic.

“Hey,” Jim said, in a louder voice than he had used since bursting out into “All Along the Watchtower” several days ago, having won his final solitaire game. He coughed, his throat too dry in the chill. He cleared the frog and took a breath. “Hey!” He said again. “Hey, buddy. Are you American? Amerikanskiy?”

The figure didn’t move. He had slumped all the way over, one arm across his eyes. 

Jim took the risk of gently tugging on the arm. “Hey…” 

The figure jerked suddenly and screamed as if in terrible pain and then he was awake and scrambling away from Jim on the floor, breathless and wide-eyed. Whatever sedative they’d given him had a strange effect on him. Usually, they wore off gradually. But this guy, this _boy_, Jim thought, was very awake suddenly and staring at him with his intense light blue eyes. 

“What in the hell,” Jim murmured as he stared into the eyes of Billy Hargrove. “What...in the hell?”

Billy Hargrove blinked at him, still slightly breathless and, in a raspy voice as disused as his own said, “Chief Hopper?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Robin, Robin, Robin!” Steve scoffed at the postcard in his hand, shaking his head. He was agitated at the very idea of the words written there and he had decided to pretend it was because Tommy Hagen was still a douchebag, though even that was not entirely accurate. “Listen to this! Listen to this!”

“What now?” Robin said, looking vaguely bored and wary as she hunched over the video log at the counter. Steve had two cans of pop under his arm. He’d just come from the arcade and then remembered that he had Tommy’s postcard in his back pocket. He wished he’d forgotten now.

He set the pops on the counter and Robin took hers while casting him a long-suffering glare. “New Coke is _gross_.”

“That was all they had,” Steve said, shrugging. Robin took it begrudgingly and Steven leaned on the counter, waving the postcard. “Listen to this! It’s from Tommy-”

“Tommy B. or Tommy H.?”

“Tommy H. I didn’t hang out with Tommy B. He smelled like raw hotdogs.”

“Tommy H. was a bigger douchebag than you.”

“Okay okay,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “We fell out, but we kinda made peace after graduation and I swear it was just to stick it to me.” He adjusted his green Family Video vest and catching a girl’s eye across the store, he tossed her a wink. She blushed a little and turned back to the Fantasy section.

_Still got it_, Steve thought.

“And how, pray tell, is he stickin’ it to you?” Robin said. She smirked and leaned on her hand to give him her full attention. He knew by now that meant she was about to make fun of him.

But he strongly felt he was in the right this time.

“Okay,” Steve said, waving the postcard around. “So Tommy’s got in on some educational tour of Europe bullshit before he starts at DePaul-”

“What’s he studying?”

“I don’t- business or some shit, I think,” Steve said. “That’s not the point. _Listen_ to this asshole.” Steve cleared his throat with a sense of drama, that he had probably learned from Robin, and read from the postcard: “Stevie boy, London babes are hot as hell. But I’m true to Carol. Wish you were here to help them out. Paris next. Then Moscow! See you in ‘86. Tommy.”

Steve threw his hands and emitted an enthusiastic, “Pfft!”

Robin frowned at him and said, “Can I see that?”

Steve handed her the postcard. The picture on the front was a generic shot of London Bridge. She squinted at him and said, “It’s...friendly? Albeit somewhat objectifying towards women. What’s the problem, Steve?”

“Are you kidding?” Steve said, his eyes comically wide. “He’s rubbing it in my face!”

“Rubbing what in your face?” Robin said, the picture of innocence.

“That he’s ya know…” Steve gestured emphatically. “_Doing_ stuff!”

“What an asshole,” Robin said dryly.

Steve opened his mouth to explain further when the jingle of the bell above the door got his attention as Dustin, Lucas, and Max walked in. He tossed them a wave and noticed Max looking worried. He hadn’t seen her around much, or at least not as often as the other kids. 

It was difficult not to think about Billy Hargrove every time he did see Max. Sometimes he thought of Billy anyway. He’d heard all about Eleven’s memories and about how the Mind Flayer had possessed Billy. All of it put together was upsetting when it came to mind and he tried not to think about it at all if he could help it. He hadn’t even known Billy very well anyway. Not really. After the fight, they’d mainly avoided each other, only bumping heads occasionally at school when Billy would mess with him just to try to get a rise. Steve had dutifully avoided him for those last six months.

There had always been something so _strange_ about Billy that he’d never been able to put his finger on beyond his macho bullshit. Not demogorgon strange. Another kind of strange.

He supposed it was explained now.

“Sure you can’t come over?” Lucas said to Max, pouting for show.

“My step-dad’s picking me up. I think.” Her face twisted up, and she squinted in the direction of the parking lot as if he might already be there. They were hovering around the front counter as Dustin mumbled about _Time Bandits_ and went to hunt it down.

Steve exchanged a look with Robin. They’d discussed this stuff before. At this point, having known Robin only a few months, he felt as if he’d discussed his entire life with Robin and everyone else’s along with it. He hadn’t even known he was interesting enough to discuss. But Robin liked to explain all his choices to him. It seemed to be her favorite pastime.

“You alright, Max?” Robin said. She tapped her pencil on the counter. 

Max only shrugged. “My step-dad’s been real weird since Billy, ya know...”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered.

“It’s like...I don’t know.” She said, rolling her eyes. “He’ll be sad but then he’ll say oh Billy was such a screw-up getting mixed up in that mall stuff… Not that he knows what really happened anyway. It’s like he can’t admit that he’s sad but then _why_ does he even get to be sad after how he treated Billy all that time? And...and I mean why do I even get to be sad? We didn’t we try to help him more! We didn’t even try to help him! I _know_ he was an asshole sometimes but...” Lucas was patting her back. She shook her head as if trying to shake off the feelings. 

Steve could only nod, having no idea how to console someone in that situation. But then he saw Neil Hargrove getting out of his car and grimaced. “Oh uh…”

Steve didn’t miss the disapproving glare Mr. Hargrove shot in Lucas’s direction and Lucas quickly spun away, throwing a regretful wave at Max as he went to join Dustin. Max went out to meet her step-dad who didn’t come in but waited outside by his car, scowling. 

Steve had a bad feeling. His ears perked up as if waiting for a certain kind of threat and he glanced at Robin who looked at him in question.

“_Told_ you to be outside…” 

He could only hear some of what Mr. Hargrove said as he towered over Max, blocking her car door. Her face twisted and Steve didn’t hear what she said but he saw Mr. Hargrove raise his hand to strike and then before he had even thought about it he was vaulting over the counter and blowing out the door to get between Max and her step-dad.

He had no plan.

Mr. Hargrove had not struck Max, but he only lowered his hand now as Steve stood between them and there was more than one pair of eyes watching. Steve saw Karen Wheeler ushering Holly out of her car and squinting over at them. That was good, Steve thought.

“You alright, Max?” Steve said.

“Can I _help_ you?” Mr. Hargrove said, scowling at Steve.

“I just want to know if Max is okay,” Steve said, feeling out of his depth. It had been easier to defend Lucas from Billy even having lost. He didn’t know how to deal with an adult, especially considering he was himself also an adult...technically.

“Max is fine,” Mr. Hargrove snarled.

“Fine like Billy was?” Steve said, feeling especially brazen.

He heard Max’s grunt of enthusiastic agreement behind him. He suspected she’d brought this up before.

“I want to go to Lucas’s,” Max said.

There was an impasse, the three of them frozen as Steve and Mr. Hargrove stared each other down.

Steve braced himself. At this point, he thought he was getting pretty good at beat downs. He wasn’t above throwing a punch at somebody else’s dad if he had too.

Karen Wheeler was still watching as Holly tugged on her arm. Steve looked away from Mr. Hargrove to Karen and raised his eyebrows, pleading for help. She nodded once and came running over, dragging Holly behind her. She doubtless knew something about the family situation. How much, Steve had no idea. But Hawkins was only so big.

Karen shuffled over in her coat, little Holly bundled up in a parka even though it was only November and not too cold yet.

“Hello, Mr. Hargrove!” Mrs. Wheeler said brightly. “Hi, Max. How are you today?”

She didn’t look any more certain than Steve was, but her mere presence seemed to make the entire dynamic of the moment shift. Mrs. Wheeler didn’t have to do much to diffuse things. She was among the more respected parents around Hawkins, involved in enough PTA and communal events _and_ gossip that Mr. Hargrove doubtless knew better than to start trouble in broad daylight with her.

“You can go to Dustin’s only because your mother has book club tonight,” Mr. Hargrove said, clearly unhappy about it. “You be home by seven.”

“Fine,” Max mumbled.

Mr. Hargrove deigned to give Karen a polite nod and then he peeled off in his truck and there was an awkward moment of silence in front of Family Video before Karen said, “Steve, I just want to talk to Max for a minute if you don’t mind?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said, only too relieved to be let off that particular hook. He saw Dustin and Lucas practically vibrating with nervous energy as they clutched their videos and stood by the counter and Steve gave them a nod.

“Is Max okay?” Lucas said.

“I think so,” Steve mumbled and went around to the counter again. He watched Mrs. Wheeler, speaking to Max and looking very serious. He remembered hearing Mrs. Wheeler tell Max she was sorry about Billy and she had looked more genuine about it than any other adult seemed to.

For the rest of the day, he couldn’t stop thinking about Max and Billy and he found himself sadder about Billy’s death than he had ever had been before.


	3. Chapter 3

_Seven feet…_

Sometimes when he dreamed, it was a nightmare. It was the shadow inside him making him do things. It was pain and loneliness and that voice that sounded like his dad’s telling him to hurt, to destroy, to hunt down some little girl...

Other times, it was a beautiful dream. 

_Seven feet…_

He was on the beach and there was the girl. She looked older than him now because he was a boy again and his mom was watching for rip currents as he ran back out with his board. 

If there was a riptide, he knew the girl would save him.

El.

He dreamed he sat with El in the sand under that warm sun and it didn’t hurt anymore.

The last thing he remembered before he woke up was Max’s face. She’d looked so torn up. He’d felt bad for making Max cry yet again.

_“I’m sorry._”

When he woke up there was a man with curly hair saying things Billy didn’t understand. He said the word “regenerative” and “osmosis.” If he’d been in a better state of mind, he was sure he could have followed it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name even when he kept telling Billy what it was.

Dr. Something.

Something that started with an O.

O...O...Dr. O?

There had been a long period of drifting in and out of life, such as it was. He had woken up a thousand times, it seemed, in a dark and empty room only to be crippled with fear that the shadow was coming for him. He had been left there for a long time, hooked up to machines. The shadow was going to find him, he’d thought. The shadow was going to hurt him again because he’d broken away and saved the girl. So he’d thrashed and screamed and Dr. Something O had stuck a lot of needles in him to get him to go to sleep again.

There had not been much lying around and thinking, just quaking with fear and then falling asleep again or getting knocked out. 

He didn’t like to be alone, that was for sure.

When the Russians had come for him, he didn’t think much of it.

They weren’t supposed to have him. He knew that.

Dr. O was going to be upset about that one.

They’d stolen him somehow.

He didn’t know how. The Russians had knocked him out too with something powerful. He had slept for a long time and when he woke up, he was in a different room with different machines. The air smelled funny. The place didn’t seem as nice. People came in and out speaking Russian and wearing Soviet uniforms. When he woke up, he’d pretend he was asleep again and try to get back to the beach.

It seemed like they all thought he was special.

They poked and prodded him and sometimes they hurt him and he screamed and tried to get back to the beach.

Somehow he did manage to get stronger. He had been healing this whole time and not realized it. 

One day he woke up in that dingy room and noticed, for the first time, all of the scars.

His brain had felt sluggish. That must have been it. Because he’d always liked his beautiful body and it was all messed up now and he didn’t care.

It just didn’t seem like his biggest problem at the moment.

Sometimes the men in their Soviet uniforms seemed frustrated with him, especially the doctors who poked and prodded.

He could walk and function okay now. He was eating solid foods. 

That was when they decided they were done with him for the time being.

He was too much trouble anyway. They were always having to sedate him.

They wouldn’t have needed to if they hadn’t left him alone.

He just didn’t want to be alone where the shadow could find him.

So one morning they yelled at him to get up and dragged him away.

He’d thought they were taking him to the shadow. He’d screamed and fought like hell.

So they knocked him out again.

This was it, he’d thought. He’d fought the shadow and the monster it had been attached to and lived through it somehow.

Now they would kill him.

At least he had saved the girl in the end. He’d saved the others too, he supposed.

Not that it made up for all that death.

They dragged him down endless hallways and he couldn’t walk, could barely think.

He closed his eyes and thought of Steve Harrington’s smile.

When they shoved him into the cell, he let himself go limp.

Maybe he would try to fight again when it came for him.

He hadn’t decided yet.

But when the shadow grabbed his arm, he screamed and scrambled away into the corner because there was nowhere else to go.

Except it wasn’t the shadow.

It was...Hawkins’ Chief of Police.

No, not just the Chief of Police. The shadow had shown him who Hopper was. Hopper was with the girl. He’d been there when she’d closed the gate. Hopper had...fought the shadow and was the girl’s protector.

Which made him good in Billy’s book.

It took him a minute to piece this together.

“What...in the hell?” Hopper murmured as he stared at Billy. 

Billy hadn’t said a word that wasn’t a scream for...he didn’t know how long. Dr. Something had asked him questions and at the time he couldn’t remember how to talk and the Russians never wanted him to talk at all.

“_I’m sorry_,” he’d said to Max.

That was the last time he’d really spoken.

“Chief Hopper?” Billy rasped.

He was freezing and now he shuddered. The cell was a whole lot colder than than his sick room. He didn’t like that. It made him think of the shadow.

His teeth chattered as he stared at Hopper, baffled. “W-what’re you doin’ here?” 

Hopper looked at him like was a ghost and then shook his head, crawling over to the wall to grab a folded blanket that he tossed to Billy. “Here,” he said. “You’re freezing.”

Billy didn’t stand on ceremony and wrapped himself up. It was a little better. But he felt like he would never properly get warm.

“You don’t look...possessed,” Hopper said. “Or anything. Last I heard you were a host to the Mind Flayer. What do you remember?”

Billy squinted at him. “The...what?”

Hopper chuckled and Billy just stared at him. “That’s what the kids always called it. The...big...shadowy thing from-”

“The shadow,” Billy said darkly. “Yeah. I was...I don’t know. I…”

Dr. Something had asked him about it too but he hadn’t been able to talk much then.

He couldn’t talk about it now either as tears flooded his eyes. “I think it’s gone,” he said brokenly, as the fear and guilt choked him again. “I...I think it’s gone but I don’t know. I tried to fight it but I...I don’t know-”

“Whoa whoa,” Hopper sat a little closer and awkwardly patted his back. “Alright, alright…”

It _was_ gone, Billy thought. Because before when he’d resisted it or it had left for short periods, he’d still felt it _around_, ever present. The shadow had been like his dad that way. Even when he left, the threat of him was always there. But as afraid as Billy had been, he hadn’t truly felt the shadow in him since that night at Starcourt.

But Billy couldn’t feel the shadow inside him at all now.

“I don’t want it to come back,” Billy whispered, his sobs echoing in the cell. “It made me hurt Max and Heather and the others and I didn’t want to, I swear…”

“Whoa, okay…” Hopper cleared his throat as he patted Billy’s back. “Hey, it’s okay, kid.”

It didn’t feel okay. Or rather, _some_ things felt okay. The shadow _was_ gone. But it had taken a lot of things with it.

“You asked me how I got here,” Hopper said now, heroically attempting to ignore Billy’s tears. “I don’t exactly know. Joyce set off the device to close the Gate and I think I ended up going through it but I don’t remember.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Billy mumbled, his voice cracking. He found himself smiling a little. “I don’t even know where the hell I am.”

He suspected that Hopper was talking about things that would make sense in the context of what the shadow had put in his head. But he didn’t feel like putting it all together just now.

“You’re in Russia, kid,” Hopper said, with some surprise. “Pretty far east too. Go up much further, we could swim to Alaska.” Billy gaped at him and Hopper shook his head. “Not really.”

“I heard them speaking Russian,” Billy muttered. “But… How the hell did I get to…?”

They had stolen him like he’d thought. He could piece that together easily enough. But it felt too surreal to have travelled all the way to goddamn Communist Russia and not even known it. Hawkins had been the farthest from San Diego he’d ever been by a lot.

“So…” Billy took a deep breath. He couldn’t process much of this. He was mostly grateful not to be alone and if there was going to be somebody with him, El’s dad was a good person to have around. The shadow had shown him enough. Hopper was a good kind of dad. 

“Okay. So...that thing, that shadow that got hold of me... I guess some secret government types grabbed me after that... I thought I was dying but then I woke up and there was a doctor… Doctor… I don’t know. He had curly hair-”

“Owens?” Hopper said, perking up.

“Yeah,” Billy said, and felt the first time since he had crashed his car at Brimborn Steel Works that he was understanding something beyond pain. “Yeah, his name _was_ Owens. I think the goddamn Russians Shanghaied me.”

He looked up at Hopper and saw now he was being warily stared at. 

What if Hopper thought he was still bad? Still with the shadow?

But he couldn’t be. He had felt the monster die, and the shadow had gone away. He was sure of it except in crazed moments when he wasn’t and the fear took over.

But he was still _bad_. Hopper could see it. 

Hopper would blame him and ask them to take him somewhere else and he’d be alone-

“Whoa! Hey, kid! Hey…”

Billy couldn’t breathe as tears slid down his face.

He’d be alone. He’d be alone.

The most he could hope for was that he could sleep and maybe he could go back to the beach with his mom and the girl where the shadow couldn’t find him.

_Seven feet…_

“Hey, it’s okay…” Hopper’s arms came around him tentatively and Billy latched on, sobbing into Hopper’s shoulder, everything spilling out of him at once. 

“I’m sorry!” He cried. “I’m sorry! It made me hurt Max and Heather and everyone and I didn’t want to do it! I tried to fight it, I swear! But the girl helped me! El made it stop and I tried to save her! I think I did!” He pulled away from Hopper and looked him in the eye, panicked suddenly that Hopper might not believe him. Hopper _had_ to believe him. Somebody had to. 

Inside him, there was another kind of Billy who would never cry on the shoulder of some cop just because he was a friend’s dad and wouldn’t count some little girl as a friend to begin with.

But he’d felt like he’d spent time with that girl on the beach even if it was really only in dreams. 

He felt like maybe she was his friend.

And that other Billy was so far away now. 

“I choked her,” he whimpered, hardly able to get the words out. He felt he needed to tell that to Hopper. If he kept things back, Hopper might get mad at him later. “It _made_ me. I hurt her at first. I did, I know I did, but then I saved her…”

Hopper searched his eyes, but he still seemed wary. “You’re talking about Eleven…”

“El. The girl who could see the shadow,” Billy said. “Who made the shadow come out into our world… She helped me fight it. She..._saw_ me. And I didn’t give her to him-”

“Eleven,” Hopper said softly. “You fought that _thing_, that monster? You fought it for El?”

Billy nodded. “It killed me,” he said, wiping his nose. “I thought...it killed me. And I felt it die, and I saw Max crying and...I thought I was dying but then I woke up and the doctor was there.”

“And...El was safe?” Hopper whispered.

He nodded again. “She must be,” he said. “I kept it away and then it died.”

Now Hopper’s eyes brimmed with tears and Billy wiped his own eyes. 

_Don’t be a pussy_, the shadow said.

He shook his head and told himself it was gone. It was so much easier to believe the thing was dead with some else around.

“El’s my girl,” Hopper said, choking on the words. “El’s my little girl. You saved my little girl?”

Yes, he thought. But before that…

Before that…

“Yes,” he whispered. “But...I hurt her. And I hurt Max and-”

“It wasn’t your fault, kid,” Hopper said quietly. “It set up camp in your head and took you over. It wasn’t your fault.” He looked right at Billy and said the words Billy hadn’t even dared to think. “It was not your fault, Billy.”

The grating sound of metal and metal startled Billy, and he scrambled back into the corner, his heart racing again. He wiped his eyes and folded up his knees as if that would hide him.

“It’s okay,” Hopper said. “It’s probably just lunch.”

The slot in the door slid open and sure enough a tray with a bowl came through and Hopper got up and went to the door to take the two trays the guard handed him before the slot shut again with another jolt. Hopper handed Billy his tray and sat down next to him. 

The food was the usual bowl of mystery soup, a hunk of dry bread, and a cup of water. At least, Billy thought of the lumpy stuff as potentially soup, having no better ideas. He’d only eaten a few meals since arriving in, apparently, Russia. Before that, he’d been on some kind of IV.

Billy grimaced at the sight of his food.

“I haven’t eaten much since I got here,” he said.

“Well, you need to,” Hopper said, dipping his bread in the soup and taking a big bite like it wasn’t disgusting. He didn’t even grimace as he chewed and swallowed. “Need to keep your strength up. Especially with winter coming.”

_Keep it up for what?_ Billy thought.

Life had not been much to begin with. His best moments had been sitting in the sun, getting the attention of fawning girls, staring at Steve Harrington across a room, and the few moments when he’d managed to please his father who was never pleased. He couldn’t think of a thing he had done that had not been rooted in anger and fear or some frantic search for a connection with someone that always ended up being bullshit on his end anyway…

_Seven feet…_

Now he was in prison in _Russia_ with no end in sight. What exactly was he living for now?

What had he ever been living for?

“C’mon, kid,” Hopper said gently. He looked at Billy like Billy was one of Max’s friends, just another kid who needed some coaxing. Billy felt like a little kid and very old all at the same time. “You’ll get used to it. Just takes a little while.”

Billy nodded and tore off a piece of bread and dunked it in the soup and took a bite. 

It didn’t taste quite as bad as he’d remembered. But the texture was awful and his face twisted as he slowly chewed and swallowed.

“Good.” Hopper nodded approvingly. “Good. Eat it all. Every bit of it.”

Billy ate it all, every bit of it. He felt the vaguest sense of accomplishment as he swallowed his last bite because Hopper nodded at him and said, “Good. That’s good.”

Hopper had left him the blanket and now he sat on it, feeling just a little warmer after eating. He folded his legs up again and rested his wrists on his knees. 

Hopper kept glancing at him somewhat expectantly and then he took Billy’s tray and bowl and stacked it with his own by the door. Billy watched him, getting the lay of the land. There was enough room in the cell for them both to have their little areas. The most foreboding feature was the steel toilet up against a wall. 

Hopper loudly cleared his throat and sat down across from Billy behind the game of solitaire that sat there on the ground. He frowned at the cards and looked back up at Billy. “I was just uh…” He seemed somewhat apologetic. “I play cards. Keep myself from losing my mind.”

Billy blinked at him. “Okay.”

“Right.” Hopper went back to his game and Billy sat back, breathing out a little, his shoulders unclenching. He stared straight ahead at the door. 

The shadow was gone, he said again to himself. He had to keep reminding himself of that because he could get so easily panicked about it and then he’d freak out and if he kept freaking out, Hopper might leave him alone. But right now the shadow felt farther away and that had something to do with Hopper too. Billy stared straight ahead at the dirty metal door in front of him, but he kept getting the urge to watch Hopper play cards because it was at least something to occupy his mind. 

Hopper was leaning on his hand, staring at his cards, humming. Billy tried to place what he was humming and couldn’t and then read the game upside down.

There was a four of hearts that could go under the five of clubs but Hopper hadn’t seen it yet.

It took a couple of minutes for Hopper to see it and then he moved the cards and Billy almost smiled.

“Hey, kid.” Hopper said, his eyes still on his cards. “Do you know if… I mean do you know who else made it out okay up there in the mall?” Hopper gave him a serious look now. He still had that big bushy mustache. It should have made him look a little silly but Billy squirmed

He remembered revving that engine, the tight rope he’d walked on internally as he’d tried to stay just outside the shadow while he tried to warn everyone to run away because he wouldn’t be able to escape it for long…

“Max’s friends,” he said slowly. “I think they were all okay?”

He had seen Harrington driving that car that had plowed into him and kept him from killing everyone.

He’d been pissed it hadn’t killed him at the time.

If he put together what he knew now with what had happened at the Byers’ house back at Halloween, a few things started to come together.

_Am I dreaming? Or is that you, Harrington_?

“Okay,” Hopper said, sighing. “Jonathan Byers too? Nancy Wheeler? The Harrington kid?”

“I-I think so,” Billy mumbled. “I didn’t...I didn’t hurt them. It got me and then it died, it couldn’t have-”

He was starting to get riled up again and Hopper seemed to sense that and raised his hand. “Okay,” he said. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay.” Billy stretched his legs out now and watched Hopper flip another card over. 

* * *

Hopper liked to sing.

Billy discovered this on the second day. The guard had brought him his own mat to sleep on and another blanket. Hopper told him about the guards. Apparently, Sergei wasn’t so bad. Sergei came by just before lights out and bought cigarettes, matches, and newspapers before collecting the empty dinner dishes.

“You don’t burn joint down, eh?” Sergei had said winking, as he handed over the matches.

Hopper had laughed. The sight of cigarettes had filled Billy with a kind of relief he’d thought he’d never feel again. They sat smoking, quietly. Billy inhaled and leaned back against the wall and thought of smoking outside the gym after practice just as the endorphins were kicking in. He thought of watching Harrington’s ass go by in those little shorts. He’d jacked off to Steve in those little shorts a million times.

Sometimes he had nightmares that the shadow made him go hurt Harrington and turn him into what Heather had become. Steve Harrington, that unattainable dream he’d obsessed about for so long turned into a monster. He woke up relieved that hadn’t happened at least.

But Heather...when he thought about Heather he wanted to die again. Sometimes. 

“It’s another tequila sunrise,” Hopper sang softly. His voice echoed in the cell. The acoustics were pretty nice actually. “Starin’ slowly cross the sky...said goodbye…”

Hopper had a stock of cigarettes he was hoarding in a shoebox next to a stack of newspapers in the corner. 

“I’ll give you two a day,” Hopper said on that second day. That wasn’t counting the ones the guards had given them. They’d split those. So he had a few of his own. “Okay?”

So Billy smoked and listened to Hopper sing The Eagles as he played solitaire.

Billy’s mom had loved The Eagles. Billy suspected his mother’s musical taste might overlap with Hopper’s quite a bit. 

The cell was cold and the food was terrible and he thought he would probably die in this place. But Hopper was there; El’s protector. He wasn’t alone. And the cell was quiet. So sitting there and smoking and listening to a bad version of “Tequila Sunrise” while he thought of his mom swaying in her yellow dress as the vinyl spun wasn’t so bad. 

He’d been thinking of his mom a lot lately.

* * *

The second day, he’d mostly slept when he wasn’t eating or sitting and staring. But on the third morning, he woke up from a nightmare, screaming like he was being murdered.

“Hey, you’re alright.” Hopper had a gruff voice but it could get soft. It wasn’t like his dad’s, that could get so sharp. His dad’s voice had a particular tone when he was about to strike. The shadow had sounded more like a hiss in his head. But sometimes that had sounded like his dad too.

Hopper patted Billy’s arm as he woke up, trying to get his bearings. “Kid, you’re okay now. You’re okay…”

_Stop being a pussy_!

“I won’t freak out again,” Billy said quickly. He knew it was a lie. He didn’t know what else to say. He had to straighten up around Hop or he’d get left alone. He’d wiped his eyes and sat up quickly, scrambling to sit in his corner. “I won’t… I got it. I’m good.” He sat up straight, his heart pounding. The nightmare was still fresh in his head. He was standing over Heather and the shadow was coming.

_Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon. Just stay very still._

“Billy,” Hopper said. He was giving Billy this sad look, like he was disappointed. Billy’s heart felt like it was in a vise. “Kid, it’s okay if you freak out. It’s… I’ve freaked out plenty of times myself. And what you went through…” He looked Billy up and down as if trying to figure him out. “You’re not in trouble. Or anything. You’re not going to be in trouble with me. Alright?”

“Okay,” Billy muttered.

“Okay.” Hopper nodded. 

Then Hopper got up and started stretching. 

Hopper had a routine, Billy discovered. On the second day, he’d been thrown off by Billy’s presence, he explained. He’d taken a day off. 

“But I should keep it up,” Hopper said now, and then groaned as he leaned to his left, his arms outstretched. “It passes the time anyway. Probably look like an idiot to you. But you can join me if you want.”

The cell was blessedly big enough that there was enough room for Hopper to go through his little exercise routine while Billy just sat and watched him, somewhat baffled and then amused.

But when Hopper started doing push-ups, Billy just snorted a laugh.

“Your form sucks,” Billy blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Hopper looked annoyed now as he looked up at Billy, mid-push up. But he didn’t look very angry, and the bushiness of his mustache kind of made the whole effect comical.

Billy got to his feet and winced. He’d been sitting in one spot for too long. 

“You’re bending and your hands are too close…” He stretched a little and then squatted down next to Hopper. “Back needs to be straight. Watch me.”

Hopper frowned, but he sat up and watched Billy who got down into the familiar posture for push-ups. His form was flawless. He did a few and looked up at Hopper. “Like that.”

“Alright.” Hopper looked a little bit chastened, but he squinted at Billy and mimicked his form. “Let’s do fifty.”

By his twenty-fifth push-up, Hopper looked like he was about to pass out while Billy was still going strong. It was a relief to him. He’d been so sedentary for so long. His muscles were already burning more than he was used to and he was tired, but he pushed through it, that familiar sense of satisfaction coming back as he counted off. 

“Jesus, Chief. Don’t kill yourself.” Billy looked askance at Hopper as he wheezed through his set. At thirty, he gave in.

“Goddammit,” Hopper muttered. “I usually just do twenty.”

“It might have felt easier when your form was all messed up,” Billy said, bringing himself low to the ground again and pushing back up. 

They did jumping jacks and crunches and ran in place. Then Hopper pointed to the pipe that ran over their heads.

“I do pull-ups on that,” he said, and leaned over, panting as he braced on his knees. The jogging had worn him out. 

But Billy felt better than he had since his first couple weeks at the Hawkins Community Pool.

“I can only do a couple, honestly,” Hopper muttered.

Billy’s eyes lit up as he regarded the pipe. “Cool.”

Hopper went first. Billy winced as he watched Hopper struggle through three painful pull-ups before he dropped to the ground and wheezed, leaning against the wall.

“Okay, kid. Go ahead. Show me up.” He raised an eyebrow at Billy who smirked for the first time in a long time before jumping to grab the pipe. 

Billy only managed eleven pull-ups before he gave in, but considering how long he’d spent lying in a hospital bed, he figured that was pretty good. He’d done them smoothly too. Hopper seemed impressed.

And now he had a goal. 

He would get to twenty and he’d get Hopper up to ten. 

Just as they finished with their exercise routine, breakfast came. 

Billy ate easier this time.

* * *

“Your old man…” Hopper was dealing himself solitaire again. Billy was sitting in his corner, skimming one of the old newspapers just for something to do and idly wondering if the Russians brought in special newspapers in English just for their top secret American prisoners. But now he looked up at Hopper, bracing himself. “He’s kind of a son of a bitch. Isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, his eyes returning to the paper. “You could say that.”

“Your mom?” Hopper said, surveying his cards. “Not your step-mom, I mean…”

“Took off, “ Billy murmured.

It was the heartbreak of his life and he’d never been able to love her any less for it.

“My father used to backhand me,” Hopper said, place a black Jack under red Queen. “When I stepped out of line. Just…” He made a little slapping gesture.

Billy took a breath and didn’t speak. He watched Hopper play his cards. He thought of his mother swaying to The Eagles and wanted Hopper to sing again even if it was bad and even if it hurt a little to listen to. 

There were several minutes of silence; so quiet that Billy could hear the drip of the pipe where there was a minor leak far down the corridor of the cells. Then Billy said: “My dad beat me with a belt so bad once, I had to skip two days of school.”

He had other examples and some of them were worse. But he thought that one got the point across pretty well.

Hopper didn’t talk for a bit. He let the revelation just sit there and finally said, “Yeah. You got a raw deal.”

Billy went back to his reading and became so absorbed in what passed for comic strips in a Soviet newspaper that he started singing without quite realizing it. He had been thinking about his mother’s favorite music since Hopper had started crooning “Tequila Sunrise.”

He hadn’t listened to that kind of music voluntarily for years.

Now he found himself serenading Chief Jim Hopper. He was barely singing. It was more of a mumble and only the hint of a melody.

“But Oz never did give nothin’ to the tin man...that he didn’t...didn’t already have…”

Hopper started bobbing his head. That was when he looked up, smiling softly. “And cause never was the reason for the evening...or the tropic of Sir Galahad…”

That was how Chief Jim Hopper started singing with Billy Hargrove.

* * *

“The Doobie Brothers,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

They were eating dinner on Billy’s fifth day in Hopper’s cell.

“It keeps you runnin’..._girl_, it keeps you runnin’...” Hopper snapped his fingers as he sang and chuckled before grabbing his dry hunk of bread.

“Yeah, my mom liked them too,” Billy said. He had already finished his dinner. 

He was only on twelve pull-ups so far. But he felt better.

Hopper was still struggling with his work-outs but Billy was determined to get him in shape. He’d started Hopper on squats.

They’d also showered that day. He hadn’t liked that at all. He’d had to share a shower with Hopper which wouldn’t have been bad except that Hopper had seen all his horrible scars on display and hadn’t hidden his reaction very well although he hadn’t mentioned it yet. 

“Have we read all the newspapers?” Billy said, fidgeting with a cigarette.

“Yeah,” Hopper said. “Might get a new one in a couple of days.”

“Shit.” Billy frowned. He’d read them all and then read them again in chronological order. 

“Wanna play cards?” Hopper said, holding up his deck. 

He’d offered card games several times. Billy had felt like he’d just barely gotten his head on a little straighter. He’d said no every time.

Now he said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Alright,” Hopper said. “We’re playing Rummy. He shuffled and dealt and Billy spun to face him, sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning on his hand.  “Why do you hate The Doobie Brothers?”  


“Why do you _like_ The Doobie Brothers?”

“He came from somewhere back in her long ago,” Hopper sang, doing a credibly comic impersonation.

“Ugh! Christ!” Billy shook his head and snorted a laugh. That particular song had come out a little bit after his mother had gone. He hadn’t heard it spinning on her record player and it _only_ annoyed him.

“Alright fine,” Hopper said, waving his deck of cards as if highly offended. “No Doobie Brothers. Geez.”

“How do you know all the words to all this shit?” Billy mumbled, sticking his unlit cigarette in his mouth as he picked up his cards.

“Music’s saved me more than once,” Hopper said dryly. “You?”

Billy raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised that someone as old as Hopper could say they had been saved by music. But he nodded. “Yeah. For sure.”

Sometimes he wondered if he would even like his favorite music now. He was in no mood to be around very loud things anymore. Maybe someday.

“On a dark desert highway!” Hopper grinned as he sang and Billy laughed, rolling his eyes. “Cool wind in my haaair…”

“Oh Jesus…

“Warm smell of colitas…”

“You’re not going to sing that whole goddamn song-”

“Rising up through the aaair-”

The sharp jolt of the lock on their door made Hopper stop singing and the unexpected sound made Billy scramble into his corner. It was not yet dinner time. Sergei wasn’t due to bring them any treats yet. 

Billy’s heart was already pounding, and that was before two unfamiliar guards appeared and gestured toward Billy, speaking Russian.

They were pointing at him and one of the guards said, “Up! Up, Americanet!”

Billy didn’t know what they wanted with him but he guessed it couldn’t be good, yet he got to his feet only for Hopper to jump up and put himself between Billy and the guards.

“No no no!” Hopper said, his taller and bulkier frame a brick wall in front of Billy. “Interrogation? You got questions? He doesn’t know _shit_. He’s a kid! He knows nothing. Stupid!”

“He comes with us!” One of the guards said. He followed it with some Russian word Billy was lost on and Hopper shook his head. 

“He doesn’t know anything!” Hopper insisted. “You wanna take someone? Take me! I got answers!” Hopper stepped aside and pointed to Billy. “He’s a stupid kid! Get it? Stupid! Nothing in there! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! I remember all kinds of shit! I remember!”

Hopper was riled up now and Billy watched, not quite believing what he was seeing until the guards threw manacles on Hopper and started dragging him away.

They were taking Hopper away.

They were leaving him alone.

What if they killed Hopper?

“Wait!” Billy shouted. He tugged on the guards arm and the guard knocked him back so he fell and he crouched there on the ground, already quivering in fear. “Wait! Wait! No, wait! Don’t take him! Hey, assholes! Stop! Fucking stop!”

“Kid, it’s okay!” Hopper said, fixing him with a stern look. Billy felt the tears welling up again but Hopper was leveling him with a steady gaze. “I’ll be back. They’re not gonna kill me, okay? I’ll be back. I’ll be right back! I promise you!”

Billy heard him yelling his assurances even as the guards shut the door in his face.

Then he was alone.

* * *

_Seven feet._

Billy didn’t know how long Hopper was gone. It was hard to keep track of time in the cell by himself, especially once he panicked and was sure that the shadow was coming for him again. He shut his eyes and curled up under his blanket and felt cold; cold like the shadow wanted it to be. He felt like the lines of his scars were on fire and he saw himself facing the monster again, the tentacles biting into his flesh as he stood between the thing and the girl who had _seen_ him.

He felt like things were moving around him. It made him feel crazy. He shut his eyes and he saw a dark place in his head. That place looked even lonelier than the cell. 

He thought of the beach. He tried to go there instead. The beach with its sun that didn’t hurt. The beach where Hopper’s girl, Eleven, was waiting for him and where his mom was still smiling. Maybe Max was there too and she didn’t hate him anymore. Since it was his own fantasy and no one could see, he put Steve Harrington there. Steve Harrington would look so good on a beach, he thought. The wind would blow his soft hair around. He would smile like sunshine. Nothing would hurt there.

“On a dark desert highway,” Billy mumbled. “Cool wind in my hair…”

He didn’t even like that song. Any affection he had for it was from his mother. The song went on for fucking ever. It had a million words and it was slow as hell.

But Billy had heard it spinning on his mother’s hi-fi so many times.

He knew the whole thing. 

He breathed and focused on the words.

“Warm smell of colitas…” His fragile voice cracked and whined in the cell where he curled up alone. “Rising up through the air…”

It felt like days before they brought Hopper back. If Billy had been thinking clearly, he might have figured that Hopper had been sent to the infirmary for a bit after a good going over. He didn’t think of that. He thought Hop was dead. Hop was dead and he was alone. 

He couldn’t get back to the beach. He couldn’t see Eleven’s kind eyes or hear his mother’s voice. He couldn’t picture Max’s grin when he’d drop her off at the arcade and give her some quarters because things were okay between them. He couldn’t remember what Steve Harrington looked like, snoozing at his desk in second period.

There was only the shadow, always just there on the edge of things, waiting for him.

By the time they brought Hop back, he hadn’t bothered to eat in a long while. He felt weak and he was shaking, his eyes shut as he inwardly ran from the shadow’s long fingers.

Then the lock turned and he scrambled back, curling up in a ball.

“Hey, kid. Billy?” Hopper’s voice whispered. Billy thought it wasn’t real. It might be the shadow trying to trick him. But he opened his eyes and saw Hopper’s pummeled face. “Got it pretty good,” Hopper said. “But I’m alright.”

Billy slowly unfurled and the shadow retreated. His muscles were sore, he’d been so coiled for so long and now he rolled over on his back before he sat up. He knew he must look like a mess. His hair was a scraggly disaster, falling over into his eyes. He sat forward, closer to Hopper, getting a good look at him.

Hopper had a wet cloth and he was dabbing a split lip with it. He didn’t look _that_ bad really but it had probably been a few days. 

It had felt like forever.

“I thought they killed you,” Billy said, choking on the words. “I thought they killed you and left me alone...I-I don’t...I can’t…”

“I know, kid,” Hopper said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want them to hurt you. You know? You saved my El. You’ve had it rough-”

“But _I_ hurt people,” Billy whispered. “Before..._before_ the shadow…”

At the time it had always seemed like there was no other option and besides that, he had wanted everyone to hurt like he hurt and anyway, wasn’t it the way of the world…

But everything had been stripped away now.

Hopper seemed to understand it and he scooted closer to Billy who sank his head in his hands and burst into tears. 

“Billy…” Hopper wrapped his arms around him. 

Billy’s own father had never hugged him in his life. Even in the times when things were fine. It was not something they did. But Hopper hugged him now, enfolding him in his arms.

“Kid, your life isn’t over,” Hopper said. “I know it feels like it now. But I’ve seen too much shit to think we’re going to be here forever. We’re gonna figure this out. And then you’ll get a chance, okay? You’ll get a chance to make it up if that’s what you wanna do. But I think you’ve paid up enough. Don’t you? It’s okay, Billy. You didn’t deserve any of this. You didn’t.”

Hopper sat there for a long time holding Billy and letting him cry.

* * *

“Hey!” Billy said, watching Hopper pull himself up to the pipe, his face a brilliant red before he dropped to the ground. “Chief! You got to six!”

“Yeah! Heh!” Hopper rubbed his hands on his legs and shook them out. “Getting somewhere, huh?”

It was their last exercise of the morning and Billy had already done his fifteen. They sat back down on the floor and breathed, stretching their legs out. 

“How long do you think I’ve been here?” Billy said. “You’re the tick mark guy.”

Hopper turned his head and read the marks he’d carved into the wall. “I made a little cross when you showed up… Let’s see. They gave me that beating oh...three weeks ago? I guess it’s been a month.”

“Hmm.” Billy nodded. “Surprised I haven’t lost my mind. I mean ...I guess I have several times.”

“You’re doin’ alright,” Hopper said. “Considering.”

Billy snorted at that. “I guess.” He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling.

“Let’s play One Thing,” Hopper said. “Then Rummy?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Hopper rubbed his hands together and blew into them. The cell was getting colder. Billy hated it. Most of the day, unless he was moving, he was wrapped in his blanket. “Let me think.”

“Not beer?” Billy said dryly.

“I don’t think my one thing is beer today,” Hopper said, squinting. “I think it’s something else… What’s yours?”

Billy sighed and tried to give it a good think. The game was to pick the One Thing from back home that you wanted more than anything else. There was a sort of unspoken rule not to pick a person. It was meant to be a light hearted game. If Billy were to pick a person, it would have been one of the same three people all the time anyway. That would have made for a boring game.

But now he was thinking of those three people. Hopper had told him to think about the good times back home. That wasn’t always easy. Some of his good times didn’t even look like good times. He’d thought of besting Harrington at the keg...walking across the room just to get in his face…

Little green shorts…

He was having trouble not thinking about a person for his One Thing.

Harrington used to always eat a bagel during first period. He would come in late, cast an apologetic look at Mr. Krakauer who taught American Lit., and plop down in his desk in front of Billy, eating his bagel, getting crumbs everywhere. Sometimes he would get caught in Billy’s gaze first and give him that nervous, wary look like Billy might beat the shit out of him again. Billy would just look back down at his notebook.

He thought about staring at the back of Steve Harrington. Any class they’d shared, he’d tried to make sure he was sitting behind him, even if it was a few seats back so he wasn’t being obvious. 

The best part was when Steve would mess with his hair and Billy could smell his girly fucking shampoo. 

It had smelled like honey.

“Shampoo,” Billy muttered.

At Kamchatka, they washed their hair with gritty bar soap.

“Shampoo,” Hopper said, chuckling. “What kind?”

“I dunno,” Billy muttered. “Something that smells good.”

“I want Eggo waffles,” Hopper said. “That’s my one thing.”

“Eggo waffles?” Billy said. “There are so many things I’d rather have than Eggo waffles.”

“Nah,” Hopper murmured. “Nothing’s better than Eggos. El loves Eggos.”

“Eleven?” Billy said, perking up. He had all kinds of questions about Eleven but felt hesitant asking them. 

“It was all she wanted to eat for the longest time,” Hopper said, shaking his head. “Couldn’t get her to eat a vegetable for love or money.”

“Hmm.” Billy grabbed Hopper’s deck of cards and shuffled them into a bridge. “Max likes donuts. She’d eat donuts for every meal if you let her.”

That night, Billy had a nightmare so bad that in the morning he couldn’t make himself sit up, much less work out with Hopper, and he didn’t want breakfast. He stayed curled up in his blanket, trying to get back to the beach.

He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch and Hopper let it pass.

But at dinner, he started nagging.

“Kid, I know you’re having a rough day,” Hopper said. He was trying to be gentle about it. But just now, Billy wished he’d shut the hell up and play his stupid cards and sing his stupid Eagles. “You gotta eat.”

“Not hungry,” Billy mumbled, his nose barely poking out of his blanket.

“I’m not hungry for this swill either,” Hopper said. “But you haven’t eaten all day and I know you didn’t eat much when I was out. C’mon, Billy. You need your strength.” 

Billy sat up and huddled in his corner, still wrapped in his blanket. “I don’t _want_ to,” he growled.

“Eat. The. Food.” Hopper glared at him. He pushed the tray with its bowl and dry hunk of bread across the floor in his direction.

Billy was pissed, for the first time in a long time. It didn’t feel like when he used to get angry. That had been a different kind of rage he could never control. 

“I don’t want to eat, asshole!” Billy snapped. “You’re not my dad!”

“Eat the food!”

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Billy, I swear to God!”

“What’re you gonna do, Chief! You gonna beat the shit out of me too!”

“No, I’m not gonna hit you, dumbass! Just eat your goddamn food!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too! Eat it!”

“NO!” 

The bowl and tray and dry hunk of bread abruptly went shooting across the floor back at Hopper, the bowl overturning and spilling half its contents on his shoes. 

Except that Billy hadn’t touched any of it.  
He had only been thinking about how he wanted to throw it in Hopper’s face, all his energy focused on that one thought.

His nose was bleeding.


	4. Chapter 4

_ December 12, 1985 _

“What do you want for Christmas?”

Steve was logging returned videos, checking to see if they were rewound, when Robin slid a Coke down the counter and into his waiting hand. He looked up, blinking at her.

“You’re buying me a Christmas present?” Steve said.

He’d actually bought something for Robin already, and Dustin as well. Buying Robin a present had been...taxing. He wanted to get her something that she’d really like but nothing that seemed too much like a girlfriend present. Jewelry was out. That had always been his go-to for Nancy. But then he’d gone into Indianapolis one day when he was bored and stumbled into a record shop that had a cool _Repo Man_ t-shirt. Robin apparently loved _Repo Man_. He’d bought Dustin a handheld video game, though he wasn’t sure he’d chosen wisely. He’d even gotten a gift for Max because everyone was a little worried about Max lately and paying close attention. Max’s gift was a little palm tree that danced around and played “Surfin’ U.S.A.” out of a little speaker.

Around Thanksgiving, they’d all gathered at Mike’s house and he’d ended up having a long conversation with Max. They’d talked about Billy and Eleven’s memories and even the fight at the Byers’. He kept fixating on it and he didn’t know why. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He felt like there had been some unfinished business between him and Billy that would never be finished now. And when he thought about Billy’s life sometimes, he got so sad he had to call up Robin and get her to talk about something cheerier.

“Yes, dingus,” Robin said now. “Aren’t you getting me something?”

“Maybe?” Steve tried to look mysterious and failed.

“Hmm. I’ll keep my expectations low,” she said. But she winked at him.

“Heh.” He stuck his tongue out. “It’s actually good. You’ll love it.”

“We’ll see,” she said.

She didn’t believe him but he knew she would love the gift. He felt cocky about it and popped his Coke open, taking a sip. He was leaning on his hand and logging his returns when the bell over the door jingled and Max came in, looking cheerful even with her flaming red hair stuffed under a green snow hat, a puffy parka looking somehow wrong on her. She was carrying a Converse shoe box under her arm as she nodded at Steve and Robin and took off her mittens, letting them hang from the sleeves. The draft of chill air that came through the door made Steve shiver even in his sweater. 

“Hey, Max!” Robin said, tossing her a nod from her stool by the register.

“Hi!” Max said. She marched up to the counter and fixed Steve with a serious expression. “I need to talk to Steve. _Alone_.”

Robin raised her eyebrows at that. “Wow. Sounds important.”

“Sure…” Steve came around the counter and shrugged at Robin who shrugged back. “I’ll just take my fifteen now.”

Steve led Max into the breakroom which was for “employees _only_, Steve, no girls besides Robin” according to Keith. But Keith wasn’t working today and this was obviously different. The break room was a few lockers, a long table, and a coffee maker with a water cooler. Steve sat down at the table and nodded at Max, who set the shoe box on the table before taking off her parka. It was overly warm in the break room and she took off her hat too and scratched her head.

“How ya doin’, Max?” Steve said.

She must have caught his concerned tone because she blinked at him and said, “Oh! Right. My step-dad is leaving.”

“Leaving?” Steve said, sitting up straight.

Everyone had been rooting for this. Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Henderson, and Mrs. Sinclair had all befriended Mrs. Mayfield and Steve had the impression some gentle yet determined nudging had been going on. 

A lot of gossiping and important discussion went down at Family Video. People liked to talk while they picked out their rentals.

“Yeah,” Max said, shrugging. “They’ve been fighting a lot. I mean especially since Billy… I’m kinda surprised. I didn’t think my mom would do it. She’s not very assertive? But he’s going to New Mexico where his brother lives, I guess.”

“Hmm…” Steve nodded. “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“I think so,” Max said quietly. “We still have a lot of the settlement from the mall thing that everybody got? Neil’s leaving us most of it. I think we’ll be alright. And my mom works at the bank so…Anyway, he’s already packing up. Can’t wait till he’s gone.”

“Well, good,” Steve said, nodding. It was great news actually. But he wondered why Max had pulled him away just to tell him personally. “Hey, you know, if you guys need any help at all-”

“I know, Steve,” Max said, rolling her eyes even as she smiled. 

“Okay.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“That’s not why I came here though, “ Max said, sitting forward. “I have something for you.”

She shoved the shoe box toward him and stared at him expectantly. “I found it yesterday. I thought I should… It’s weird but I thought you should have it.”

Steve frowned and warily opened the worn-looking shoebox.

Steve stared down at the contents of the box and his mouth dropped open when he saw all the pictures of himself inside. He recognized some of the pictures. They’d been cut out of old yearbooks going back to freshman year. Others he didn’t recognize, but they were definitely more recent. They looked like unused candids from the Yearbook Committee. There were a couple pictures of Steve with Dustin from a Tigers Bake Sale in the townsquare and one of Steve with Nancy. Or at least it had originally been a picture of him and Nancy but Nancy had been cut out of it. There were other things in the box too. There was an old P.E. t-shirt of his that he’d thrown out when Tommy had gotten blood on it from a bloody nose. There was a pen that was his that he’d lost. Or he thought he had. There were notes he’d received from girls in class and thrown out unthinkingly. There was another attempt at a college essay that he’d tossed because it was awful. There was a pack of his favorite gum and a bottle cap from his favorite kind of pop (Dr. Pepper). There was a sealed envelope with something in it and his name was written on it. 

“Max,” Steve whispered. 

For a dizzying moment he thought that Max had a massive crush on him, but he wasn’t about to be so wrong about something like that _again _and it just didn’t sound right.

Then he was just confused.

“I found it in Billy’s room,” Max said quietly. “Way under his bed. I was looking for a cassette I dropped.”

There was no mistaking what the box meant. None of the pictures had “die Steve” written on them or anything of the sort. 

Neither of them had to say what the box meant.

“I’m just glad I found it before my step-dad,” Max said. “He used to call Billy names all the time like… I mean you can guess, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. 

“Maybe that’s why he took out so many girls and made a big deal out of it,” Max said. “Think he was trying to prove something.”

“But he…” Steve didn’t know where his sentence was even going. He stared down at the pictures of himself, carefully cut out and collected. The most intriguing item was that envelope… 

“Well, I have to go,” Max said, abruptly getting up and grabbing her hat and parka. “I just wanted to…”

“Right.”

Max left in a whirl of color and Steve was alone in the room with the shoe-box full of Steve Harrington memorabilia. He stood and threw open his locker and stuffed the box inside. He didn’t usually bother to shut his locker with its combination lock but now he did, giving the combination a spin. Just in case. Steve stared at the closed locker. It felt not unlike that time he’d stuffed a dead demodog in Mrs. Byers’ refrigerator. 

He went out onto the floor of Family Video feeling _off_. It was as if the whole world had shifted a few inches to the left. The entire context of his life was suddenly different. Everything meant something else now, it seemed.

“Steve?” Robin leaned on the counter and frowned back and he joined her, taking a sip of the Coke he’d left on the counter. Even the pop tasted different. “We alright, buddy?”

It was snowing outside. It would be Christmas in two weeks. 

Steve loved Christmas. He was going to have Robin and Dustin over to watch all the good Christmas specials and eat the same kind of Christmas cookies that Mrs. Henderson had given him last year after the Snow Ball.

He’d bought Max a palm tree that danced and played “Surfin’ U.S.A.”

But his heart was pounding now and even the snowflakes outside looked different than they had a few minutes ago.

“Billy Hargrove was in love with me,” Steve said.

* * *

Six days later, Steve found himself knocking on the Mayfield’s front door, bouncing on his toes because it was so cold. He had sorted through every single item in the Steve Box. He’d found a whole bunch of other stuff in there under the pictures and the letter and the other small things. Billy had made a mixed tape that said “Harrington” in an inky scrawl on the spine. There was a suspicious tube of Chapstick that Steve suspected he’d left in the library once. 

He hadn’t listened to the mixed tape yet. He was a little afraid to.

He hadn’t read the letter yet either. 

But if Billy Hargrove had been an itch he was unable to scratch, he was now a full-blown rash that was driving Steve insane. All he could think about now was Billy Hargrove. It wasn’t just the box either. He couldn’t stop thinking about Billy’s life and death. But he couldn’t figure out where to put those thoughts.

So he was knocking on Max’s front door.

Mr. Hargrove, Steve had heard, was already gone. Max’s friends had all breathed a sigh of relief for Max’s sake. The front door opened and Max answered. She was wearing yellow overalls with a rainbow on the pocket, which seemed excessively summary for winter, but she looked cheery and bright and Steve smiled.

“Steve?” Max said. She had a Twizzzler hanging from the corner of her mouth. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Steve crossed his arms, more out of a sense of defensiveness than because of the chill even as a little blast of snow blew his hair around. “I was wondering-”

“Oh, come in!” Max said, stepping back. “Geez.”

Steve nodded and stepped inside and dimly heard the sound of an adult somewhere in the house. “I was wondering if I could like… I wanted to see Billy’s room?” 

It had made more sense in his head. He’s heard Max say that they hadn’t done anything with Billy’s stuff yet even months later. Maybe it was because there had not been a proper funeral because there had been no body, Dr. Owens and his government people having swiftly grabbed it from the mall the second they’d arrived. A parent like Joyce Byers might have fought them on that, but Neil Hargrove hadn’t. 

“Oh!” Max’s eyebrows shot up as she closed the door behind Steve and he took off his parka. “Sure. It’s fine. I hang out in there a lot. Listen to his music. My mom said she might rent it out sometime though. If we need the money.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a good idea,” Steve mumbled, following Max inside.

“Do you...want anything?” Max said, blinking at him. He watched her attempt to try on adult hospitality. “We have hot chocolate or…?”

“No,” he said, chuckling. “I’m alright.”

Max led him around a corner and opened the door into Billy’s room. Steve immediately felt that sense of surreality whenever you saw somebody’s room for the first time. It was like stepping inside their mind or their soul. Billy’s room was small and a little dingy, but the light through the cracked blinds gave it a softness. It looked like it had been tidied up and kept in a kind of stasis. Or at least Steve couldn’t imagine that Billy had always kept his room _this_ neat. Not a thing looked out of place, outside of the cigarettes still sitting in his ashtray.

“You could play his music,” Max said. “If you want. Or whatever. He’s not here to care, I guess.”

Steve walked inside, feeling a bit dazed, and Max hovered in the doorway before blushing a little and saying, “I’ll just leave you to it. Take as long as you want.”

Steve nodded and Max shut the door and he was left alone in Billy’s room.

She had given him permission to snoop, he thought. But it felt too strange. He already seen, perhaps, the most personal thing there could have been to see which was the box. He had the letter Billy had written him in his pocket. 

Steve had been carrying the letter around with him since Max had given him the box. 

He had yet to open the envelope much less read what he suspected was some kind of love note. 

The thought was dizzying.

He’d told Robin all about the box and she’d begged to see it. But it was such a strange and sudden revelation, they hadn’t talked about it all that much yet. Steve didn’t know what to say about it anyway because he didn’t know what he thought about it.

“And you weren’t even friends?” Robin said.

“We got to be where we were civil with each other,” Steve said. “Later. But I never really got to know him or anything.”

Steve slowly walked around Billy’s room and examined the posters pinned to the wall. Metallica and Motley Crue. He felt too strange about opening a drawer. But he wandered over to the little makeshift crate vanity and bit his lip as he picked up the can of Aqua Net like it was some significant artifact, and then the bottle of Artemis. He gave it a sniff and flashed on Billy in his face in gym class; sweat, Artemis, Sure deodorant. He was dizzy with the memory and he put the bottle down. He sat on Billy’s bed, next to his nightstand. This was where Billy had slept and jerked off and who knew what else.

Feeling brazen, he opened the top drawer. _Penthouse_. 

In the top drawer? Steve thought. Talk about brazen. 

The second drawer was gum and cigarettes. The third drawer was cassettes. Steve was looking at them when he dropped one and as he was reaching down he felt something papery brush his wrist that was sticking out of the bed. He frowned and stood, crouching again and reaching between the mattress and the box spring to find a magazine.

The magazine was _Honcho_. It was clearly made for gay men.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ah.”

Steve stared at the closed door in front of him and opened the magazine. The first page came across was a guy who looked like a low budget Tom Selleck, but his was dick was big and very erect and he had heavy lidded eyes and a broad chest. The next page was a young blonde stud with his lips wrapped around a cock and Steve’s own dick jumped before he shut the magazine and stuffed it back in between the mattress and box spring.

On second thought...what if they cleaned out his room? Then they’d find it and it would be _weird_ for everyone. Even weirder than the Steve box. The _Penthouse Magazine_ he felt was somehow expected. But he didn’t want anyone stumbling on _this_ and making fun of Billy. He rolled up the magazine and sighed. He’d just have to sneak it out somehow and hope Billy didn’t have anything else like that hidden away.

If it happened to make his dick jump again when he was alone in his room, well...

“You were full of secrets, weren’t you?” Steve said, sighing. 

He leaned on his hand and glanced over at the makeup case on the vanity and on a whim he went back over and knelt there. 

Steve opened the makeup case and found mostly more cologne, some eyeliner, a bunch of earrings and necklaces and other stuff that looked more like it might have come from his mom. 

The photographs were clipped together under a tray, half hidden.

The photographs were of his mother, Steve assumed, from how Eleven had described her in the memories. She was pretty and blonde. There was little Billy with a stuffed elephant. Billy with a surfboard. His mother holding a guitar. 

_“I told him she was pretty and he nodded like… It was like I saw him. He wanted somebody to see him._”

Eleven had told Steve all kinds of things as they’d sat on the Wheelers’ back porch.

Steve put everything back and closed the make-up case and sat on Billy’s bed.

“I wish I’d seen you,” Steve murmured.

The letter felt like a bomb in his back pocket and he took a deep breath and reached back, slipping it out. The envelope was a little crumbled now since he’d been carrying it around all this time. He stared at _Harrington_ written in Billy’s distinct all capitals scrawl. He wrote hard in ballpoint pen like he was punishing the paper.

Steve held his breath and ripped open the envelope before he could second guess himself.

The letter was multiple pages and it was dated for June 22, 1985. 

Steve had not expected the letter to have been written so close to Billy’s death and that changed things somehow. He already had a lump in his throat just seeing that date and Billy’s handwriting; all capital letters, compressed and tense, his print almost tearing through the thin notebook paper.

He would have been working at the pool already when he’d written this, flirting with damn near everyone as he strutted around in his trunks.

_Steve,_

_I’m drunk. Or almost. So I don’t give a shit. School is over. That means I don’t see you every day. Less torture for you, I guess._

_Every day I sit in the sun and everyone watches me. Everyone wants me._

_But I miss your dumb face._

_I’ll never send this to you so I guess it doesn’t matter._

_Yesterday I waited in the mall parking lot until you got off work. I was going to give you a cigarette and say we needed to talk. I was going to be so cool about it. I chickened out. Like usual._

_Real pussy._

_I miss your eyes._

_Sometimes I think you’d get it, get me. Or something. _

_If things like that happened in real life._

_But they don’t._

_Life doesn’t hand you that kinda shit. _

_Once when I was a kid, I told my dad a boy at school had pretty eyes and he slapped me so hard my ears rang._

_So._

_So I guess that’s why I beat the shit out of you._

_So I’m sorry._

The letter went on and on. Billy went on tangents. He said that he liked all the attention Karen Wheeler would give him. He said he was lonely. He said he hated everyone sometimes. He said he liked Max. He said sometimes he wanted to put his fists through his own windows…

He was apparently drinking while he was writing and the letter became less coherent and more emotional, but he’d kept it anyway. He’d folded it up neatly and stuck it in an envelope and kept it in his Steve Box and then about a week later he’d crashed his car and been possessed by an interdimensional monster and gotten killed saving a little girl he didn’t really know. He’d saved everyone else too.

The end of the letter said:

_I love you._

_-Billy_

By the time Steve was done reading the letter, his face was wet and a few tears and fallen to the pages and blurred the ink. Steve folded it up when he was done and stuffed it back into the torn envelope and into his back pocket.

He hadn’t cried like this in a long time. Not since he’d curled up in bed after the break-up with Nancy and wallowed until it stopped hurting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you,” Steve whispered, sobbing into his hands. 

If he thought about it, he knew it really wasn’t his fault. Especially not his. Billy had beaten him up. Steve had no reason to want to reach out to him. He was just sorry for the hand Billy had been dealt. He was sorry that nobody had tried to get the monster out of his head when he’d clearly been trying to fight it. He was sorry that Billy was dead and sorry that he’d only gotten to know Billy after he’d died. 

He was so sorry.

He was also somewhat shocked at his own reaction now, but he felt a deep well of sadness inside as tears kept sliding down his face. He got to his feet and gave the room one last look before making his way out.

“Steve?” Max was on the couch in the living room and when she twisted around, her eyes looked large. “Hey, are you okay?”

Steve ducked his head, embarrassed, his parka and Billy’s gay porn mag rolled up in it under his arm

“Yeah,” Steve said, clearing his throat even though tears were even now threatening to spill. “Fine. Just gotta go.” He wasn’t fooling anyone, he knew.

“Okay-”  
He didn’t hear what else she said before he was outside in the snow and slamming the door behind him.

Steve’s crying jag went on and on even as he drove to Family Video because Robin was still working her shift. He didn’t think about it. He just went there first. His throat hurt. His eyes were sore. 

He could not stop crying.  


He had never been a big cryer. He _felt _things. It wasn’t like he didn’t _feel_ things. Sometimes he thought he felt things too much. But when it came to sadness and anger and things like that, he tended to shove them away. His parents were like that. They always had been. Soldier on. Everything is fine, dear.

Everything didn’t feel fine now.

Everything felt...too much.

He parked crooked in front of the video store and threw open his door, choked by another sob. His tires had squealed as he’d driven up and Robin was already running outside in her ugly green Family Video vest and her denim skirt and tights. The snow was blowing around them as Robin ran up to Steve who slammed his car door and leaned back against the BMW, covering his face and unable to stop crying.

“Steve!” Robin said. “Steve, holy shit! What’s the matter!”

When he had spoken to Robin about the box before, he had not even known what to think about it.

But now there was an avalanche inside him and it wouldn’t stop collapsing.  


“It’s not fair!” Steve said through his sobs as Robin threw her arms around him. He cried on her shoulder, clutching her tight, willing it feel less painful. But it couldn’t, he thought. It couldn’t be any less any painful. “It’s not fair! It wasn’t fair… I didn’t… I didn’t see him! And now...”

“Okay, hey. Okay, well let’s go talk about it then?” Robin was whispering. She was patting his back and trying to comfort him as he cried on her shoulder like a little kid.

He thought of that beach Eleven had told him about.

That little boy in the picture with a surfboard.

“_He wanted somebody to see him_.”

_I see you, Billy_, Steve thought. _I see you, but I’m too late._


	5. Chapter 5

December 18, 1985

“Just...just focus.” Hopper was giving Billy a stern look and Billy narrowed his eyes at him.

“I _know_,” Billy said. “Will you quit staring at me? I can’t do it when you stare at me!”

“Okay, okay…” Hopper shifted on the floor and sat against the wall. Billy sat next to him and glared at the bowl on the floor. 

So far Billy had made the bowl float and slide and flip over. But he couldn’t _always_ do it. There was a problem of consistency. He needed to be able to do it whenever he wanted.

He’d been working on this for a week.

He’d moved other things. He’d made the cigarettes scatter and fly into the air. He’d made the newspaper flutter. He’d made the plates and cups fly. But he liked the bowl best for some reason.

Hopper had explained to him all about Eleven’s powers. It was how she’d been able to get into his head. It was how she’d thrown two-hundred pounds of barbell into his throat.

Hopper wanted him to work on getting “into the void.”

He’d tried it several times already with no success, but the thought filled him with terror.

He felt like the shadow might be waiting for him there.

It was easier to work on making bowls float.

He’d lain down at night trying to process the idea that he had superpowers now and he didn’t know why.

It didn’t make sense to him. Even beyond the idea of anyone having superpowers.

Billy stared at the bowl and it floated into the air. He smiled to himself and watched it hover around. He felt like he almost had a handle phantom muscle he had first used purely by accident. But accessing it was hard. It was slippery as hell and he felt like he was barely using it. If it was a muscle, he couldn’t figure out how to properly flex it.

“Good,” Hopper said. “That’s real good.”

Billy was five for five today. He was getting better at consistency.

“Does it matter how heavy it is?” Billy said. 

He’d already asked this before. They’d talked about the powers at length already. 

Not that he hadn’t already known the answer to that question.

Hopper sighed heavily. “El threw you through a wall. She threw a van in the air. And she was a little girl. It does take more power. Maybe more time to become that strong. But it’s not a physical kind of strength.”

“I can do it,” Billy muttered, putting the bowl back in its place and wiping his nose.

He kept asking Hopper the same questions because he liked to listen to Hopper tell him how Eleven had thrown a van in the air, how she could find people in the void, and how she had fought monsters nobody else could touch. 

It was because Eleven, that little girl who’d touched his face so gently when he was a monster and told him his mother had been pretty, was his hero.

“Sometimes,” Hopper said, “she was more powerful when she was kinda...worked up. By sometimes I mean...all the time. If she was angry, if she was scared, or upset…”

Billy knew about anger. He knew _all_ about anger. But that fire that could so easily rage out of control felt different now. He didn’t want to go breaking faces and walls and screaming into the night. He felt like he’d spent that anger up and he was tired now. He wanted _quiet_. Most of the time he just wanted to sit in his cell with Hopper and play cards.

Billy stared at the bowl and thought about how he’d gotten to the prison in the first place.

He was supposed to be dead.

The government had taken him and made him better only for the Soviets to steal him…

They_ should _have let him die.

The bowl flew up and Billy made it hover there, his breath catching at the amount of control he now felt. He glared at the bowl and made it float over to Hopper who was grinning as he plucked it from the air.

Billy grabbed the rag they had around and dabbed at his bloody nose. The thing was already crusted with his blood. He felt sick and weak too, and he had to sit back and take a deep breath. Eleven hadn’t felt sick and weak when she’d used her powers, Hopper had told him. He theorized that they were just hitting Billy differently. Or maybe it was because they were new to him.

His goal was to move Hopper with his mind.

So far it felt like moving a car with his bare hands.

“I’m gonna try you again,” Billy said, rubbing his eyes. “Just gimme a minute.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard, kid,” Hopper said. “We got time.”

Hopper said that but Billy could read the truth all over his face. Nobody cared that Billy was dead, sure. Except maybe for Max. But plenty of people cared that Hopper was dead and even if Billy had told him that they were probably safe now from what he’d seen, it wasn’t enough. Hopper had a life. Hopper had _people_. 

He’d described the void to Billy. If Billy could get in the void, he could _maybe_ look in on Hawkins. 

Even better, if he could get powerful enough, he could maybe get them out of Kamchatka. 

It was hard to ignore the fact that Eleven had built up her powers over the course of years.

Hopper could say they had all the time they wanted. But Billy suspected he would not want to wait that long.

Billy was still resting when Sergei came by with cigarettes and a comic book. Billy and Hopper exchanged a look and Hopper got to his feet to talk to Sergei at the door.

Hopper spoke about five Russian words on a good day but Sergei seemed to be pretty good with English. 

Billy frowned, overhearing something about baseball and the New York Yankees and they were laughing for a while before Hopper clapped Sergei on the back and the door was closed. Hopper sat down and split the cigarettes between them. Sergei had given them a comic book too and a bar of chocolate. It would be shitty chocolate but it was still like gold to them.

“The Yankees?” Billy say dryly, as he bit into his gritty chocolate.

“He likes good ole American baseball,” Hopper said, shrugging. 

“What about good ole American radios?” Billy said.

“Said to give him two days.” Hopper grinned and sat back, looking satisfied with himself. “I feel good about it. I think he likes me. He told me he didn’t want them to beat me up.”

“Swell,” Billy snarked and folded up his legs. 

He was nervous about going into the void. So far, he had failed. Hopper seemed optimistic that that radio would help.

Now he stared at the door, the pros and cons swirling in his head like an endless tornado of doubts. If he failed, he would disappoint Hopper. If he succeeded…

He didn’t know what to think about that. 

“What if I can’t do it,” he said, hugging his knees. “You said Eleven used to need a goddamn deprivation tank.”

“I don’t know if you can,” Hopper admitted. “But it’s worth trying, right? You’re older, you’re strong. Maybe those are assets. However you got these powers...maybe we’re lucky and you’ll be good at using them.”

“I’ve never been lucky,” Billy muttered.

Hopper groaned and he rested his head on the wall. Now that Billy took a good look at him, he seemed paler than usual. “Chief?”

“Not feelin’ too hot,” Hopper muttered. “Think I’m comin’ down with the flu.”

Billy didn’t like the sound of that at all and he felt a thrill of fear.

What if something happened to Hopper?

But all he said was, “Get some sleep.”

“Think I will,” he said, already curling on his mat, under the blanket. “Wake me up for dinner, kid.”

“Sure thing.”

Hopper had said, if they could get their hands on a radio and turn it to static, it might help him go into the void. That was what Eleven used to do with the TV. Billy had doubts. He had seen up close the incredible power that Eleven had possessed. 

He was strong. He could throw a punch. He was a fitting body for a monster who wanted to hurt people.

But this...this was Eleven’s territory.

Hopper went to sleep. Billy breathed until he felt better and then sat up and grabbed the strip of prison uniform he’d torn from his undershirt that would function as a blindfold. He was not optimistic. He couldn’t stop thinking about that deprivation tank. But it was something to do at least and it was easier with Hopper not staring at him, a captive audience to his failures.

Billy tied the blindfold over his eyes. It felt a little silly, but so did singing “Tin Man” with Hopper while playing Rummy. Lots of things had changed.

Billy sat and focused on reaching that dark place Hopper had told him about. It was the place where Eleven had found him. 

_“I want to see what happened._”

So he’d shown her what happened; all the pain that had led up to the shadow. He had wanted her to see him and help him make the shadow go away. 

That phantom muscle of power was difficult to locate sometimes. Billy listened to his own breath, to Hopper’s breath. The prison was quiet. But there was a drip far away that was distracting. He needed the static of the radio at least. His thoughts were a riot of doubts as he sat there. This wouldn’t work. He would fail. It was just as well. He was better off here anyway. Max was better off…

He sat there so long blindfolded that eventually his thoughts cleared and he wasn’t thinking about anything. He didn’t know how long he remained there in the stillness, just being. It felt like a couple of hours.

Then he saw the dark place.

The prison disappeared around him and he was in the void, the floor cold and liquid under his feet. The blackness was frightening, but he couldn’t sense the shadow anywhere.

That’s what he had been most afraid of.

“Chief,” he whispered. “I made it.”

* * *

When he came out of the void, Billy couldn’t breathe. He dry heaved and shook for a few minutes. But it was still a huge step. It had taken him a couple of hours of mind-numbing absolute stillness to achieve. It was testament, he thought, to how much he had been changed. It used to be, he couldn’t ever sit still for more than two minutes together. He was okay in class but outside of it, he always needed to be moving and he always needed noise. Even when he worked out he had to be smoking and watching TV and listening to his music at the same time. Sitting in a lifeguard chair for so long had even been annoying, but there had been enough activity around him to keep him entertaining and not feeling edgy. 

Yet now he had become used to sitting in the quiet and being grateful for it. He had become used to stillness. He _liked_ the stillness. Apparently, that was an asset.

“Chief?” Billy croaked, when he finally felt better. Hopper was half asleep now, and shuddering under his blanket. He was pale and clammy. “Shit. You’re really sick.”

“Mmm...f-fine,” Hopper murmured. “Just...flu…”

Billy felt his forehead. His skin was far too hot. “You need a doctor.”

“Nah…”

“Chief,” Billy whispered, kneeling there beside him. “I saw the void. I was _there_. Even without the radio!”

“That’s...that’s good,” Hopper whispered. “That’s real good, El.”

Billy stared at him, disbelieving, and then he jumped to his feet and marched to the door of the cell, pounding on it for all he was worth. “Hey!” He shouted. He ran back to grab one of the meal trays and pounded on the door with it. “Hey! I need a doctor! DOCTOR! For the American! C’mon, you assholes!”

The doctors came for Hopper. There was a brief discussion but Sergei seemed to feel strongly. Billy suspected it helped that they were considered “important” prisoners. That could be good or really bad, Hopper had warned him.

“Whatever you do, kid,” Hopper had said the day before, “don’t let them see your powers. You’ll never get out of here if they see what you can do.”

They took Hopper to the infirmary and Billy was left alone.

He tried not to panic. He was doing a little better than the last time they’d taken Hopper. The radio, he thought, might help with things besides going into the void. It would all be in Russian, but at least it would be people talking. 

When they took Hopper away, Billy sat back down, and immediately tried to go back to the void.

For the three days he was left to his own devices. He practiced his powers and going into the void as much as he could stand. He found he couldn’t do it for too long before he’d get too tired and weak, so weak he thought he’d made himself sick. He kept up his workout routine at the same time and he played the occasional game of solitaire and he ate all his food. He heard Hopper’s gentle voice in his head, urging him on.

On the third day, Sergei bought a radio. 

“Merry Christmas, Amerikanet,” Sergei said, grinning. “Jim better soon, da?”

A _radio_.

Billy almost cried when Sergei closed the door again. The radio had come with two comics books, a bar of chocolate, and an entire pack of cigarettes. Billy had a brief urge to make out with Sergei except that he had a dent in his nose and he had a beard with bread crumbs in it and he smelled like ham. But Billy tried not to betray his thankfulness too much. Hopper could be the charming one. He wasn’t about to thank his captors even if he was more content here than he had been in a while.

“Okay, Chief,” Billy said to the empty air. “Now we’re cookin’.”

Billy turned on the radio and played around with the tuner and it wasn’t hard to find some nice squelchy white noise. It was a lot easier to find that then a clear station. He put on his blind fold and sat back and for the first time, he tried to reach out to a person. 

He figured he would try to find Hopper first. Maybe it would be easier to start out with someone close by who he had just seen.

Billy worked on finding Hopper in the void for the next several hours. He worked so hard, he didn’t bother to eat and he made himself weak, coming back from the void each time and collapsing on his back. He finally took a break and ate some dinner. It seemed the more he failed, the more he was determined to finally succeed. But his attempts felt stronger each time. He felt Hopper was close. 

So close and yet so far away. 

Then it was lights out and he scarfed down some icy slop to fill his stomach. Billy lay down on his mat, listening to the white noise and gritting his teeth. 

Hopper would have told him to get some rest. He would do better in the morning. But he was riled up now. He knew he would never sleep. 

Tears pricked his eyes as the desperate desire not to fail Hopper came over him. 

It felt different than all the times he’d tried so hard not to fail his dad. That was fear.

This was something else. It didn’t feel bad, but it was very different.

It was late that night when Billy gave up on sleep. He sat up again and put on his blindfold and turned the radio to static again.

He took a deep breath and thought of Max. He knew it wouldn’t work, but it was good to get used to popping into the void anyway, he figured.

Billy imagined Max in his mind and at the same time, he reached out toward the void. He thought of Max the last time he’d seen her. She’d been crying her eyes out. She’d been so upset over him. Even in what he’d thought were his last moments on the earth, he’d felt his battered heart swelling with affection for Max just for being so upset. He’d wanted more than anything in that moment to get another chance, to be the brother she’d deserved. He felt that now as he pictured her. 

And then he saw her in the void.

It was late in Kamchatka which made it early morning in Hawkins. He saw there in the inky blackness. Max was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal. Susan was standing nearby, drinking coffee, smiling softly. Max was wearing a thick sweater, dressed for winter. She was looking at a magazine. She said something Billy couldn’t make out as he walked toward them. 

He didn’t see his father. That was both strange and a relief. 

But Max looked happy. He watched Susan check her watch and then Max was jumping up from the table.

“I always forget how long it takes to drive in snow,” Susan said.

“It’s only homeroom,” Max said, leaving her dish in the sink and grabbing her backpack. 

“Max,” Billy whispered. She looked happy. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need him at all. But he found himself shouting at her in the void. “MAX!”

She didn’t seem to hear him at all and then she disappeared. He broke out of the void, his stomach in knots, his nose bleeding. He hunched over and heaved, sure he would throw up, except there wasn’t much to throw up. He was crying too. He hadn’t even realized it.

When he felt better, Billy tried it again. He saw Max in school, sitting between Dustin and Lucas in a math class. She was laughing and looked happy. She was wearing his necklace. They must have given it to her before they’d taken him away. He saw her fidget with the chain, the pendant hanging over her sweater; the medal of the Virgin Mary. They had given her the necklace to keep and told her he was dead, he figured. But that had been months ago and she was fine now. 

She was happy and she deserved to be.

Billy broke out of the void feeling somehow both worse and better than he had before. It was a strange feeling, he thought, to want someone to be happy when it had nothing to do with you or when it could even make you suffer. He’d been focused on making others feel as much pain as he felt for so long, this option had not really occurred to him. 

He wiped his bloody nose and sat back, his blindfold still over his eyes, the radio still playing static. The prison air was far too cold. No wonder Hopper had gotten sick. Billy hated it. He missed the sun, now that he could actually enjoy it again if he wanted to. He closed his eyes and thought of Hawkins in summer. It was no California, that was for sure. 

But it did have its advantages, like Steve Harrington in shorts. 

He’d seen Steve Harrington in his ridiculous Scoops Ahoy uniform. He’d wanted to ruin Steve in that uniform. He’d wanted to push the shirt up and press Steve’s hands back by his head and jerk himself off and come on Steve’s chest. He’d wanted to shove his hands up the back of those shorts and squeeze that luscious ass. He’d wanted Steve to pull those dumb shorts down and roll Billy over and fuck him hard. 

Billy was still hard when he went into the void again and this time he saw Steve Harrington. 

Steve was standing in front of Family Video. He was drinking from a styrafoam cup of coffee and wearing a dumb red snow hat that was stuffed on his head. Then Keith from the arcade showed up. 

“Are you sure you’re ready to handle opening duties, Steve?” Keith said in his typical monotone. He was also wearing a dumb snow hat with a giant orange pom-pomp top and Billy followed them around to the back of the store that sat there in the blackness of the void. Keith was unlocking the back door.

Steve was grinning, holding his coffee and a little bag. “Don’t be grumpy, Keith. I bought you a donut.”  
“Your attempts to brown-nose me will fail,” Keith said darkly. “Did you get me sprinkles?”

“Yes, of course.” Steve handed him the little bag and Keith took out a donut decorated like a Christmas tree that he stuck in his mouth before unlocking the back door of the video store. 

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Steve said.

Keith looked at him like he was crazy and Steve tapped his watch. “I don’t start for five minutes.”

Keith rolled his eyes and went inside. Billy walked toward Steve Harrington as he leaned on the stucco wall behind him. It was only occurring to him now that he could watch Steve, could _stare_ at Steve in his natural element, without Steve knowing. Beautiful untouchable Steve Harrington who didn’t care at all that Billy was dead. In fact, he was probably just a little bit happier. 

Billy was standing only a couple feet away, the two of them shrouded in the inky void as Steve unwittingly sipped his coffee and stared out at the snow that was falling around him. From Billy’s point of view, the snow seemed to fall from nowhere in the darkness.

Steve looked even more beautiful than he had before to Billy’s mind. Maybe that was because he hadn’t seen him in months or because the chill hair made his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright as he gazed with a pensive expression. Because he could, Billy got as close as he dared just to get a good look at Steve Harrington’s mouth with its full pink lips. Steve sighed and his expression shifted a little. He looked slightly sad. 

Then a girl came skipping in from the darkness and ran up to Steve. She was blonde and kind of cute in thick tights and a denim skirt and one of those gigantic sweaters girls liked to wear now. She was wearing Christmas tree ornament earrings. Steve grinned when he saw her.

“Robin!” Steve said. “Whatcha doing here? You’re not in yet.”

She laughed in the snow, just feet away from Billy as she walked up, seeming to radiate light even in that darkness. She was holding a plaid scarf and a backpack was on her shoulder. “You left your good scarf at my place, dingus. You’ll freeze!” She wrapped the scarf around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Just stopped by to give it to you. See you at four!”

“Later!”

Steve Harrington had a new girlfriend. Steve Harrington was happy.

Billy broke out of the void that he had been for maybe too long and now he hunched over on the ground, heaving dry hair, his stomach all twisted up again as blood dripped from his nose.

_I can’t do it_, he thought. _I just can’t do it.  
***_

“Chief!” Billy hopped to his feet when the door open and Hopper ambled in, still looking a little ragged.

It would be Christmas Eve in Hawkins.

Hopper sat down and Billy took the trays of food that the guards had brought along with them. Sergei nodded at the giant stack of newspapers that had collected in a corner and Billy felt a great rush of resentment even as he gathered them and handed them over, though he was given two good old fashioned American comic books in return.

“Go Yankees!” Sergei said, laughing on his way out.

“Right,” Billy muttered.

The door shut and Billy huffed as he sat down next to Hopper. “I hate the Yankees.”

“I’m a Mets, man.”

“Dodgers.”

Hopper cast him a slightly disapproving glare and Billy narrowed his eyes but held up the comic books. “A _Batman _and a _Wonder Woman_. Max would approve.” Hopper chuckled at that and Billy sat back and picked up his bowl of breakfast porridge. He stretched out his legs. He hadn’t expected Hopper back but he was relieved. He’d had a few ugly episodes, left alone for so long, though it had been nothing compared to the time Hopper was gone for questioning. 

He was getting better, like Hopper had said he would.

“How’re you feeling?” Billy said.

“I’m alright,” Hopper said, shrugging. He nodded at the radio that sat by Billy’s side. “See you got a little present there.”  


“Yeah…” Billy chewed his lip. “Um, so I… I saw Max in the void. Big as life. Saw Steve Harrington too.”

Hopper’s eyes grew wide as he swallowed down his porridge. “Billy! That’s great news!” He leaned over and clapped Billy on the back and squeezed his shoulder. “I knew you could do it. I _knew_ it, kid.”

“Right,” Billy mumbled, blushing under the approval. “Yeah. Well…”

“Steve Harrington?” Hopper said, looking puzzled. “Were you guys friends?”

Billy stared at him, inwardly screaming obscenities. “Ah...sort of.”

He had not tried to speak to Eleven yet. He had a particular kind of anxiety about it. 

“If we can get them to _hear_ you,” Hopper said. “Then we’ll really have something.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Billy sputtered, glaring down at his porridge. “I mean, it’s a real bitch just to see them at all. I can barely do that. I don’t know if…”

“You can do it,” Hopper said in his gentle way. “I know you can, kid. We’re gonna get out of this-”

“Yeah, well you say that,” Billy snapped. “But you don’t really know, do you? Besides like...maybe...maybe I don’t want to leave, alright!”

Hopper looked at him like he was potentially out of his mind. “What was that?”

Billy shoved his tray aside and sat back again, hugging his knees. “I said maybe I don’t want to leave.”

“Billy...why wouldn’t you want to leave?” He shook his head, disbelieving. “You’re an American kid. You belong in that stupid car of yours cruising around for girls and eating hamburgers and getting speeding tickets from me. Going to the mall and the movies. What the hell are you talking about, you don’t want to leave?”

Billy felt the all too familiar sensation of a big lump in his throat and he shut his eyes, trying to swallow it down. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm, grounding him. “Everyone I ever...cared about,” he said tightly, “is better off without me. Max definitely is and so is… They’re better off and I’m… It’s quiet here. I got three squares and all I have to do is think about card games and comic books and that stupid _Pravda_ and my next shower and my next cigarette… I’m just… I’m better off and so are they.”

His mother, he thought, had been better off without him. She must have been.

He closed his eyes again, not wanting to see how Hopper was looking at him. He didn’t want to see that kind of pity or disappointment, not from Hopper. 

“That’s complete bullshit,” Hopper said flatly.

Billy was taken aback, even a little angry, though he supposed that answer was better than pity. “What-”

“You’re what, eighteen-years-old?” Hopper said. “You’ve been in here a few weeks and you’re already ready to hang it up and do time in the gulag for the rest of your goddamn life? _Billy_.”

Billy rubbed his eyes and looked away, staring at the opposite wall, avoiding Hopper’s penetrating gaze.

“I had a daughter,” Hopper said quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “Eleven-”

“No,” Hopper said. “Before that. I had a daughter. Long time back now. Her name was Sarah.” Hopper rubbed his chin, staring off at something Billy clearly wasn’t seeing. “That little girl was the light of my life. And she died. When she was seven. Nothing I could’ve done. Nothing anyone could do. And I thought that was it. Life was never going to be anything good again. And it wasn’t for a long time. And then El came along. I had light again. I had...something good.” He looked over at Billy, that stern look in his eyes. “You can have light too. You can have something good. I want to get you out of here and show you that you can have that.”

Billy’s felt like he was choking as he spoke. “Why would you care?”

“Because I care about _you_, kid,” Hopper said. “Cared about you before you got those fancy powers. You didn’t ask for the shit hand you got. And maybe you’ve made some mistakes but…” Hopper laughed even as Billy’s tears started to slide. He’d always cried easily but lately he felt like every emotion that wasn’t anger was jumping right up to the surface to finally get its turn. “You are _so_ young. My girl, El, she’s only four years younger than you. You’re right at the beginning, Billy. You’re not at the end. I want to get you out of here. Show you how good it can be. If you’re with me. If you’re with me, I’m not gonna leave you alone. No matter what.”

“Heard that before,” Billy murmured, feeling ten-years-old.

“_No matter what_,” Hopper said and the way he looked at Billy made him feel like he was on the beach again.

Billy swallowed that lump and coughed, sniffing and wiping his eyes. “I’ll do it for you,” he said thickly. “El should get her dad back. I’ll get us out of here. I’ll do it for you.”

* * *

Billy was surprised by how much the squelch of the radio made such a big difference. He could slip in and out of the void now with ease after about twenty minutes of sitting and concentrating instead of several hours. Eleven, according to Hopper, could do it almost instantly. 

There was Max again. She was standing in the snow, leaning on the side of the house that seemed to float there in the darkness. She was staring into the distance, her mouth an angry little frown as she tugged her parka tight around her. 

“Max,” Billy muttered.

Max took something out of her pocket and held it to her lips and Billy only now saw that it was a cigarette. She licked her lips and took a breath, sticking the cigarette in her mouth, and took out a lighter.

“Pfft.” Billy chuckled and found himself smiling as he watched her poor attempt at smoking. “Dumbass.”

She lit the cigarette and puffed, not inhaling even a little bit before she blew the smoke out into the snow.

She was wearing a big ugly green Christmas sweater. Billy remembered it from the year before.

“Max!” Susan’s voice echoed in the void. “I made pancakes!”

“Coming,” Max muttered and she took another couple of clumsy puffs before stomping the cigarette into the snow. The void shifted, the house seeming to turn and transform as Max went inside to the kitchen; the fridge, stove, and table floating there as if on a stage. 

Max sat at the table and glared at the pile of pancakes slathered in syrup and butter on a plate in front of her. It was Christmas morning for Max, and Billy frowned as she listlessly picked at her food. He noted that, once again, his father was nowhere to be seen.

He was supposed to be trying to contact Max. But it was hard not just watch and see what happened next. Still, he’d promised Hopper. Billy took a breath and marched forward before shouting, “Max!”

But Max did not look up. She was staring at her pancakes.

“I know there’s been a lot of change,” Susan said.

Max’s dry laugh cut her off. She raised an eyebrow. “Change? Yeah, I guess so.”

“I know you miss Billy, sweetheart,” Susan said.

“It’s not like we were so close,” Max said. “It’s just… And it’s Christmas.”

“I know.”

Max sat up straight in her chair and it seemed like she was looking right at him. “Do you remember that Christmas when Neil had to work? And Billy came home on Christmas Eve when he’d been out-”

“He was drunk,” Susan said. But she was smiling wryly.

“He was a _little_ drunk,” Max said. “But he was..._fun_. He was wearing those reindeer antlers. And he made me cocoa. He made sure to put the mini marshmallows on it.”

“And he started throwing them all around the kitchen,” Susan said, smiling sadly.

“You got mad,” Max said.

“Not for long,” Susan whispered. Her eyes were glassy. “He was being so… I was scolding him not to get marshmallow stuck to the floor and he threw one right at my nose and then _you_ tickled me and I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“And we were all laughing and throwing marshmallows for the longest time,” Max said.

“That was a good Christmas,” Susan said.

“Do you think he was happy that day?” Max said, her voice cracking. Her eyes were wide as Billy looked at her. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. “Do you think he was ever happy?”

“Max,” Billy said.

“I...I hope he was,” Susan said. “I hope so.”

“I wish I could…” Max burst into tears and her mother sat by her side and stroked her hair.

Billy felt everything he felt inside of him come bursting out all at once and he walked straight to the table and grabbed her hand before he screamed, “MAX!”

“Ah!” Max jerked and sat up, her teary eyes wide. “Billy?”

The prison cell came back to him in a rush of sensation and Billy felt the world turning upside down around him as collapsed to the floor.

“Billy?” 

He felt someone lightly slapping his cheeks and he groaned, stirring into consciousness. “Max…”

“Billy,” Hopper said. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Max...heard me.” He took a breath, opening his eyes, and half surprised not to see Max eating pancakes. “She heard me, Chief.”

“Holy shit,” Hopper muttered, as Billy grunted and sat up. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. He felt...proud of himself. It felt like a good game of basketball; making that shot from down the court. “I said her name, she looked right at me. She said ‘Billy.’ Probably thinks I’m a goddamn ghost.” Hopper handed him the bar of chocolate neither of them had touched yet. “Eat this. You deserve it.”

“Rather have a cigarette,” Billy said, going for his small stock of smokes. He lit himself a cigarette and took a long, relaxing drag. The smokes were harsh even for someone used to Marlboro reds. Billy soaked in the burn in his longs and thought of Max wanting him to be happy. He felt the slightest spark of home inside him that maybe Hopper was right about second chances.

* * *

The next morning Billy said, “I’m going to try for Steve Harrington.”

He had wanted to try after Max the day before and Hopper had worried he’d push himself too hard after Billy let slip that he’d passed out.

“What is it with you and Steve Harrington?” Hopper said, squinting at him.

“Nothing,” Billy murmured. “We went to school together is all. We...played basketball and we beat each other up. There’s a… I don’t know.”

He couldn’t tell Hopper the truth. There was no chance of that. Somehow Hopper seemed to actually like him. He wouldn’t like him if he knew.

_Don’t be a pussy_.

“You need to try El soon,” Hopper said. He was trying to sound firm but Billy saw the hope in his eyes. 

Billy nodded and despite his fears of trying to reach Eleven, he nodded and said, “Yeah. I’ll try her next. I swear.”

Now he put on his blindfold again and turned the radio on to static. He took deep breaths and tried to enter that clear headed sort of numb state. It was like seeing an optical illusion in your head. 

For Steve, it would be late Christmas evening. It was wrong probably to wreck someone’s Christmas by trying to contact them via interdimensional means especially as a supposed dead person. But Billy focused on Hopper and Eleven. He was doing it for them. He was also fairly certain his connection to Harrington wouldn’t be strong enough for Steve to hear him anyway. And if he did, what would he think? 

But Billy focused on Steve anyhow as he entered the void; his big sweet eyes and full mouth. It didn’t take long before Steve was there in front of him. He was sitting up on his bed with a plate of Christmas cookies and there was stuff around him that looked like presents; clothes, cassettes, a portable television. It was the kind of stuff rich kids got from their parents who had likely already gone to bed. 

But Steve was sitting up in bed with the light on and reading something. He didn’t look happy about it. His eyes were red as he nibbled on a sugar cookie snowman that he eventually put back as he sighed to himself.

Steve bed floated in the blackness of the void and Billy forced himself to walk right up to him, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. 

When he saw the familiar sheets of notebook paper sitting in Steve’s lap, he felt like his heart dropped down into the void itself.

“Oh fuck,” Billy murmured. “Fuck…”

Now Steve sat forward, crossing his legs under him. “Robin says I should talk to you,” Steve said quietly. He glanced at his shut door as if to make sure it was really closed. “She talked a lot about… I don’t know...processing grief. Or something. I missed some of it. This is just so weird.” He rubbed his face and sniffed, messing up his hair that flopped over like he’d done it on purpose. “It doesn’t make any sense. I just feel like… I feel like you’re not supposed to be dead. I feel like I’m supposed to know you but I didn’t realize it until…” He smoothed his hands over the letter, staring at them with a kind of reverence. Billy remembered writing that letter. He hadn’t been nearly drunk enough to forget it. He’d folded it up carefully and sealed it an envelope and stowed it away in his Steve Box with the rest of his heartbreak. But the letter looked different now. It was slightly crumpled and it had new creases and a coffee stain in the corner.  
Steve had read this letter a lot.

“I didn’t know you before,” Steve said tearfully. “And I feel like I do now which is _crazy_. But we were supposed to… We were supposed to have a chance, we never had a chance and…_Fuck_.”

“Better off without me, Harrington,” Billy whispered into the void.

“I just wish you were here,” Steve said and seemed to look right at him, but Billy knew that was impossible. “I really just wish you were here. I wish we had a chance.”

It took all of Billy’s courage and he felt his heart pounding too loudly in his chest as he walked to Steve’s bed that floated in the void. Steve looked truly dejected, as if someone he already loved had died.

He heard Eleven’s voice in his head as he reached out and touched Steve’s hand that rested on his knee. “Harrington!” Billy said, already feeling the weight of it all hit him, a sudden physical weakness making him want to collapse. “Can you hear me? Harrington, it’s Billy Hargrove!” His legs shook but Steve’s eyes were wide. “Steve, I’m with Hopper! Harrington! I’m in…” He felt like he was dying suddenly and the void blurred around him even as he tried to shout at Steve. “I’m in Russia with Hopper!”

“Billy?” Steve said, his voice echoed as the void swallowed Billy and disappeared.

He felt like his heart was seizing and he shook, letting Steve go as the connection was severed.

But he didn’t wake up in his cell.

* * *

“Amerikanet?” The doctor said. Or anyway, Billy assumed he was a doctor because he was wearing a white coat. He was bald and squat. He looked rather jolly. But Billy saw an all too familiar dark look in his eye.

Billy blinked at him, still getting his bearings. He was in the same hospital room he’d first woken up in after Dr. Owens. He was lying in bed and felt like weights were holding him down.

“Good to see you’re alive,” the doctor said, blessedly speaking English. “We worry. You are important.”

Billy froze up but he schooled his expression into one of careful disdain, staring the doctor down. “Me? I’m not important.”

The doctor laughed. “We have _stolen_ you, Billy Hargrove. We know what you are.” The doctor walked over to Billy and gestured at his white undershirt. They’d changed him into fresh clothes from the usual grungy olive green tunic and pants. “You take up your shirt?”

Billy glared at him. “No.”

“Okay. You want shock? Bone saw?” The doctor shrugged and then pointed vaguely at his own mouth. “Lose tooth?”

Billy shuddered. He’d been lucky so far. He’d been left alone. But he should have known better. There _was_ a reason they had stolen him. He gritted his teeth and shoved down his blankets, pulling up his shirt and looking away so he didn’t have to see his own hideous scars.

The doctor grinned and his eyes lit up as if he was looking at the Holy Grail itself. “The beast,” the doctor whispered. “The beast is what we call it. We have heard about it.”

“It’s a shadow,” Billy murmured, pulling his shirt down.

“Whatever you call it,” the doctor said. “It is...quite powerful. And the world it comes from…”

“If you jokers plan to weaponize it, forget it,” Billy snarled. “It’s_ too_ powerful. It has its own agenda.”

“You know a lot about it, hmm?” The doctor said. His eyes were heavy lidded. He almost looked turned on.

_Fuck._

“I don’t know shit,” Billy snapped. “I just know you don’t fuck with that thing.”

“You know plenty,” the doctor said, sounding quite jovial. He slipped his hands in his pockets. “But we don’t need what you know. We need _you_. And whatever...you can _do_ now that it left you alive.”

Billy heard Hopper’s voice in his head telling not to show them his powers. That would be the kiss of death.

He shrugged, almost apologetic about the whole thing. “I can’t do fuck all, man. I got nothin’. Get someone else to be your lab rat.”

“No no.” He wagged a fingers. “You will make fine lab rat. But for now rest up. We have a lot of work for you.”

The doctor left and Billy was left alone. The promise of some unnammeable torture to come filled him with terror and he lept to his feet even as a surge of weakness made him want to collapse right back on the bed. The door was locked because of course it was. He sat on his bed in his hospital gown, shuddering from the fear of whatever they had planned for him and the anxiety of being alone that was now hitting him so hard he could barely breathe.

Billy stared at the door and breathed in and out, concentrating all his strength.

It was stupid. 

He had no plan. Even if he managed to blow the door open, it would likely sap him of his strength just as some guard came along with a nice big gun. 

_If I was stronger, I’d get us both out of here_, he thought.

_Don’t be a pussy_.

_If I was stronger like Eleven_.

He tried to sum up some emotion, remembering what Hopper had told him about it fueling El’s power. But all he felt now was fear and when he stood up and tried to make his bed float, it only trembled for a moment and went still. Fear didn’t seem to work as fuel. 

That was hilarious really. It had always been Billy’s fuel before.

He lay back on his bed and held back the tears threatening to fall. 

Steve had heard him. Max had heard him. Maybe that would be enough. Except that he wasn’t even sure Steve had heard him mention Hopper or Russia. The void had been severing itself and he hadn’t gotten that far. He would just be some ghost to Steve.

He needed to go back. He needed to tell someone exactly where they were and that he was with Hopper before the two of them were mutilated by mad scientists. 

Billy took the pillowcase from his pillow and tied it around his eyes. He had no radio. He would just have to do it the old fashioned way with that painstaking meditation.

It took him hours. He was meant to be sleeping. The lights turned out by themselves. He was left alone in the dark where the shadow could find him but Billy breathed through the fear.

He concentrated on the void and on Eleven. He was tired and he pushed through it and finally, _finally_ he saw her there in the darkness. 

Eleven was standing in a kitchen. Will Byers was there too. They were both bobbing their heads as Eleven emptied a Jiffy Pop into a big bowl.

“Money for nothing,” Will sang softly. “And your chicks for free…”

“Money for nothing,” Eleven sang along after him. “And the chicks for free…”

They were both wearing fuzzy sweaters. It was the day after Christmas now as they danced around the little kitchen. Eleven’s hair was piled up into a ponytail on top of her head.

“I want my, I want my, I want my MTV!” El sang.

Billy felt like he was walking on a tightrope of concentration as he crossed the void to the segment of the kitchen that floated there. Eleven was grabbing a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and she set it on the counter and Billy was just a foot away from her. She looked so happy. She had saved him from the shadow.

_But Hopper_…

She would want to know. He was sure of that. If just for Hopper.

He reached out and grabbed her hand as it reached for the bowl of popcorn and she stopped suddenly, gasping a little. 

Billy felt like every muscle in his body was tensed as he breathed in and out and sweat poured off of him, soaking through his undershirt.

“Eleven, it’s Billy Hargrove,” Billy said, trying to get the words out quickly before he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m in Kamchatka. I’m with Hopper!” He felt connection between them fading already but Eleven was shaking, her mouth gaping open. “Kamchatka! It’s Billy and I’m with Hopper in a prison!”

“Kamchatka!” Eleven said.  
It was the last thing he heard.

The thread was severed. The void was gone.

Billy collapsed, falling off his bed to the cold floor, and wretched.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m not crazy!” Steve said, even as he paced in circles behind the counter at Family Video. He couldn’t seem to sit still. “I  _ heard _ him. Crystal clear! I thought I even saw him for a second there! I thought…”

He stood still again and spun around to face Robin who was shelving the Action section. She was looking at him like he might be crazy although, for Robin, that was not unusual behavior.

“And you’re sure you weren’t high?” Robin said for the third time.

“Yes,” Steve said, gritting his teeth. “I didn’t actually get high on Christmas, okay? I was just saying it would be nice because my dad gets all…” He made a face and imitates his father’s general demeanor. “So how’s the working man’s life, Steven? How’s it feel to earn a wage? And bla bla bla.”

“Right,” Robin said. But she smiled to herself and he didn’t miss it. Robin had met Steve’s parents. She’d proceeded to mock them every chance she got, especially since his mother was under the impression they were either dating or should be. “Dingus, you know I love you. But I think this might have been a dream. Just a really visceral dream. It makes sense! I mean this guy dies and then you find out he was…” She looked around but there were only customers far away in the Horror section. “In  _ love _ with you and after everything that happened and what El told you… It would be a real trip for anyone, you know?”

“It wasn’t a dream, Robin!” Steve all but exploded. He sighed and slumped over on the counter, sinking his head in his hands. 

He had thought for just a moment that it was a ghost. But that he was hearing things or dreaming had never been an option. Whatever the explanation was, he’d heard Billy Hargrove shouting at him and it had been real.

“I  _ want _ to believe you,” Robin said slowly. 

He shook his head. He was getting a headache from thinking about the tragic death of Billy Hargrove. He’d read the love letter too many times to count. He’d brought up Billy with Max and asked for stories. It wasn’t  _ good _ for him, he thought. Even Robin had seemed worried. There had to be something abnormal about being this obsessed with a dead guy.

Of course she thought he was crazy.

He did  _ feel _ a little crazy.

The bell over the door rang and Steve sighed, lifting his head, bracing himself for some annoying customer who would doubtless ask if  _ Back to the Future _ was on video yet (it was not).

But it was just Max, looking as freaked out as Steve had ever seen her as a flurry of snow blew in with her. Lucas and Dustin followed behind, the three of them in brightly colored winter wear and hats and mittens. They were on their Christmas break. Steve supposed they’d be around a lot with the arcade next door even given the harsh weather.

“I’m just saying it  _ could _ have been a dream,” Lucas was saying as they nodded hello to Steve.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Max said, practically growling. “I  _ heard  _ him. El would believe me. I just haven’t told her yet. I didn’t even know if I should say it over the phone.”

A chill ran up Steve’s spine and he looked at Robin, raising his eyebrows, and already feeling a sense of triumph. 

“Heard who?” Robin said, walking over.

“Nobody,” Max said, but she was playing with Billy’s necklace that she always wore.

Steve licked his lips and said, “Was it Billy?”

“Yes!” Max said urgently.

Steve raised his arms and tipped his chin in Robin’s direction. “Ha! Still think I’m crazy?”

“Never said you were crazy!” Robin said, but Steve still felt a bit smug.

“I heard him too,” Steve said, leaning on his arms as he peered down at Max. “Last night. In my room. He shouted ‘Harrington.’ And he said his name. And then he said something else but it was starting to fade, it almost sounded like…”

“Like  _ what _ ?” Dustin said.

Steve licked his lips. He wasn’t completely sure of what he’d heard at the end. He’d been too distracted by the strange sensation of a phantom touch on his hand. It had been soft and electric at the same time and left him tingling. “It sounded like he said he was with Hopper,” Steve said.

The only two real customers in the store walked out without renting anything and Steve ran around the corner and locked the front door flipping the sign around to say ‘closed.’

“Holy shit,” Lucas whispered.

“What if he was talking from the void?” Max said. “Like El can. Or...could.”

“How would Billy get in the void?” Lucas said. Steve could practically see the wheels in his head turning.

“Really?” Dustin said. “ _ That’s _ your question! We saw him get totally skewered like a Hot Dog on a stick right in front of us! How is he even alive?” He glanced at Max and winced. “Sorry, Max.”

“Owens,” Lucas said, speaking in hushed whispers. “Owens took his body. What if…”

“What if he never died,” Max whispered.

“Still doesn’t explain how he’s in the void,” Dustin said.

“What’s the void again?” Robin said.

“Oh my God,” Steve said, sighing. “I  _ told _ you.” It was the one thing he could lord over Robin; his knowledge of Upside Down related topics. She was fascinated by the whole thing but she was always forgetting the details.

“Wait a minute,” Lucas said. “Why would Billy talk to  _ Steve _ in the void? Max, yeah. Maybe Eleven. But why Steve?”

Lucas stared at him and Steve looked to Robin for help. “There’s a...connection,” Steve said, blood rising to his cheeks. “When you fight somebody. Right? It’s like… Two guys, ya know, it’s like hey... Right?”

Dustin curled his lip. “ _ What _ ?”

“Ssshhhsssckkk!” Dustin’s walkie-talkie chirped from inside his backpack and everyone looked at each other at once, alarmed. He swung his bag around and dug it out. 

“Hello? Mike? Over?”

“Dustin! Get everybody to my house! Stat! Over!”

“Mike!” Dustin said. Steve looked to Robin as if she could somehow explain what was happening and Robin only shrugged and chewed on her thumbnail. “Mike, what’s going on? Over?”

“El is here!” Mike said through the walkie. “With Will and Mrs. Byers! Get everybody to my basement! Over!”

* * *

The elder Wheelers weren’t home Steve discovered to his great relief once they’d arrived, all jumbled into his BMW. Mike threw open the door and his eyes were large. He looked younger to Steve suddenly, just like the kid who’d been so annoyed whenever his sister’s boyfriend showed up. 

“Come in! Come in!” Mike said. “Come on! We’re meeting down in the basement!” He frowned at Robin as she filed in behind Max.”What’s she doing here?”

“Shut up, Wheeler,” Steve said. “She’s in the club now.”

“I was at the mall too, you little shithead,” Robin snarked, giving him a dirty look.

He didn’t seem to take it personally though as they stomped through the house and down to the basement. “Okay, okay. Geez.”

“So El just showed up?” Lucas said. 

“Yeah.” Mike was grinning now even though Steve suspected the business at hand was quite serious. “With Mrs. Byers and Will. Jonathan couldn’t come though.”

“Where are your folks?” Steve said.

“Date night,” Mike said, making a face. “Gross.”

Down in the basement, Max ran straight to El and threw her arms around her and Steve nodded hello at Mrs. Byers as the boys greeted Will. There was a strange feeling in the room, but there was at least no feeling of terror. Instead Steve actually felt a kind of buzzing hope in the dim basement where a half eaten pizza was sitting on a card table. 

After a couple of minutes, everyone seemed to reflexively quiet down and they all looked to Mrs. Byers who nodded to Eleven. “El. Sweetie, tell them what you told me. We had to come all the way down here in person. Couldn’t risk the phones.”

Max nudged Dustin and whispered, “I  _ told _ you.” 

El licked her lips and said, “I...I heard Billy. In the void.”

“Holy shit,” Lucas whispered, and looked at Max with wide eyes.

“So did I!” Max said. She clapped her hands to her cheeks and Steve found himself smiling at how happy she suddenly looked. “He’s alive. Holy shit, Billy’s alive…”

_ Yeah, holy shit,  _ Steve thought. He shivered and found his lips curving up when he thought about it.

“What!” Mike said. “Holy…”

Max and Robin looked at Steve expectantly and he blushed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, so did I.”

Both Mike and Will seemed confused at that. “You did?”

“Yeah okay!” Steve sputtered. “I mean we played basketball together, okay!” Robin seemed far too amused. He saw her stifling a laugh.

El went on to say, “He said he’s in Kam...Kamcha…”

“Kamchatka,” Mrs. Byers said quietly.

“Yes Kam _ chatka. _ ”

“Where the hell is Kamchatka?” Dustin said.

“Russia,” Robin said, so quickly that Steve looked at her in surprise. “It’s a peninsula. It’s way far east.”

“That’s not all,” El said, and now a slow smile grew on her face.

“Hopper’s with him,” Steve blurted out.

El nodded excitedly. “Yes! That’s what he said!”

“I felt him touch my hand,” Steve said. 

Dustin murmured, “Because of  _ basketball _ ?”

“And...and the fight,” Steve said, stuttering a little. “Like I said… There’s like a connection?”

“But how the hell would Billy  _ Hargrove _ be talking to you guys in the void?” Lucas said. 

“What if...he has El’s powers now?” Max had been sitting on the arm of the couch but now she stood up, her eyes bright and her cheeks still rosy from the cold. It sounded to Steve like she’d thought of this before. “That thing that was part of the monster got inside El, right? In her leg. And then she got it out and it merged  _ back _ with the monster and then it killed… Or it  _ tried _ to kill Billy. What if it took El’s powers away and transferred them to him?”

“Billy Hargrove with El’s powers?” Dustin said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Christ.”

“I have to call Murray,” Mrs. Byers was muttering. “I mean...I  _ have _ called him. Once. He hasn’t called back yet. And Owens-”

“Screw Owens!” Max said, her voice so sharp, Steve had an urge to cover his years. “Dr. Owens told us Billy was  _ dead _ ! I’ve thought he was dead all this time and he wasn’t! I don’t trust him for a second!”

Mrs. Byers smiled and spread her hands. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart-”

“I’m not  _ upset _ !” Max said, even as she stomped her foot. “I’m being practical! Why would I trust the asshole who told me my brother was dead when he clearly wasn’t! You do what you want! I say we save them ourselves!”

“They’re in  _ Russia! _ ” Mike said incredulously. “You don’t just  _ go _ to the Soviet Union!”

Steve cleared his throat and already certain that he might be saying something stupid he said, “Uh...why not?”

Everyone stared at him and he heard even Will Byers snort.

That stung a little.

“Steve,” Robin said, in that voice she got when she was trying to save him from something. “Don’t-”

“Because it’s the U.S.S.R.?” Dustin said. “The Iron Curtain? Ya know... _ Russia _ ? As in like... _ Russia _ ?”

“You don’t just walk in,” Lucas said.

Steve rolled his eyes, both at his own lack of knowledge and his inability to get across what he meant. “No, I  _ know _ okay. I know people just don’t like go there on vacation usually but people do go there, right? Americans? I mean...Tommy Hagen’s going there for Christ’s sake! He’s going to Moscow in just a few days from Paris! I just got another stupid postcard!”   
Robin said, “Yeah, but that’s an educational tour. It’s an exception.”

Steve chewed on his lip. She was right, he supposed. It was an exception.

But it didn’t change the fact that Tommy H. was going to Moscow.

Tommy was going to Moscow...

“Our only real options are connections in D.C.,” Joyce said, sighing. But she did look a lot more cheerful than he’d seen her last. They hadn’t even talked about the implications as they tried to figure out the logistics of how to find Hopper and Billy Hargrove. But the idea of two people presumed dead now alive?

Steve smiled to himself. The implications seemed immense to him...and a little bit terrifying.

“What’s in Kamchatka?” Max said. “Do we know exactly where they might be? I mean-”

“It’s a prison,” Will said quietly. “That’s what Murray told my mom.”

“Lot of political prisoners,” she muttered. “The kind of place they might do something top secret like…”

“Upside Down shit,” Steve muttered.

“Yes,” Joyce said, nodding. “It’s right outside the city of Petro...Petro…”   
“Petropavlovsk,” Will said. “That’s what Murray said. Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.”

“Petropavlosk,” Steve said, repeating the words a few times under his breath. He shut his eyes and repeated it again. “Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky. Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky…”

“Steve,” Robin whispered, nudging him. “Are you having a stroke?”

Joyce was talking about her contacts in D.C. and how that was their only hope to get Hopper and Billy back and nobody was paying attention to Robin and him. Steve tugged on Robin’s arm. “Can I talk to you upstairs? Just need uh...some air.”

Mike frowned and said, “It’s eight degrees outside.”   
“Whatever,” Steve muttered and saw Dustin squinting at him as he dragged Robin back up the stairs.

“I don’t want to go outside!” Robin said as he shut the basement door behind them. 

“We’re not going outside.” He led her to the kitchen. He had done a lot of hiding in the Wheeler’s kitchen while waiting for Nancy to get ready for dates. It had always been safer than the living room where Mr. Wheeler would inevitably want to make incredibly awkward conversation about politics or news in general.

“What is it?” Robin said, crossing her arms.

Steve nodded and took a deep breath and said, “I’m gonna go to Russia.”

Robin burst out laughing. She often burst out laughing at things he said, and about six times out of ten it was because he’d actually intended them to be funny. “Okay, dingus. Sure.”

It  _ was _ an insane idea. 

He knew that.

But ever since he’d read that letter he’d had a feeling like his life was about to change, which had not made much sense because it had been written by a dead guy. Now he felt a deep pull inside him to go do something completely crazy like go to Russia to save Billy Hargrove and Chief Hopper and it felt just like that pull that had kept him from jumping in his car and driving away from the Byers when Nancy had told him to go. 

Destiny.

“Robin,” Steve said. “I’m going to Russia. Petropavlosk-Kamchatski. See, I remembered the name!” He gripped her shoulders. There was something enticing about the idea. The most exciting part being, it didn’t involve any actual monsters. 

“Oh, good” Robin said. “You remembered the name! I guess that’s all you need then! Steve-”

“I have a passport,” Steve said. “It’s up to date and everything. And I have savings”

“Wait, you have savings?” Robin said. “How do you have savings?”

“My dad made me open a savings account when I was five,” he said with a snort. “I had to put away ten percent of my allowance every week. It was so annoying but after a while I forgot it was even there, I just kept adding to it. There’s like five grand in there.”

“Five grand!” Robin said, swatting him. “How do you forget about five grand!”

He blushed and shrugged, sheepish. “Well, you know. My parents pay for everything anyway.”   
“God, you’re spoiled.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Steve said. “Whatever. I’m Richie Rich. That means I don’t have to sell my car for dough. I’m taking my savings and I’m going to Russia-”

“Steve,” Robin said slowly. “We went through this. You can’t just walk in-”

“Can’t just walk into Russia,” he said, imitating Mike Wheeler. “Yeah, I get it. That’s why it’s lucky that I know a guy who’s already got clearance to go. I’m gonna go find Tommy H. in Paris and switch places with him. I’ll go to Moscow in his place, ditch the tour, and go to Pavlov...eviansky...Kamchy-”

“Oh my God, you already forgot the name.”

“I know the name!” Steve said. “Anyway, that’s the plan. Just trust me. We can’t wait for some contacts in D.C. to get off their asses. Billy could be actually dead by then.” Steve caught himself and said, “And Hopper.”

“Steve, this plan is completely insane,” Robin said. “You think you can just switch places with Tommy Hagen? You guys don’t even look alike.”

“Pfft.” He waved his hand, dismissing the very idea. “I’ve done educational tours like that. Just on the coast here. Nobody pays attention. They’re just counting heads. I’ll just say...they’ve had my name wrong all this time.”

“Let’s say you actually get to Kamchatka,” Robin said, narrowing her eyes. “Then what? You’re going to bust into some gulag and get them out? How exactly?”

“I don’t know…” Steve shrugged. He figured he’d sort that part out later. “But we’ve done it before unless you’ve already forgotten.”

“Oh my God, that letter really messed you up.” Robin shook her head and laughed softly, looking him up and down as if appraising him. “Goddammit, dingus.”

“Listen… I know too much about him now. Nobody ever fought for him when he needed it. Now I’m going to.”

“What if something  _ happens _ ?” Robin whispered.

“I don’t know. I’ve fought monsters,” Steve said. “Real ones. Communists are nothing.”

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The adhesive from the electrodes they’d stuck to his head kept tangling in his hair. 

So they’d buzzed his hair.

Billy had lived through monster possession, certain death, hospitalization, and then imprisonment with his curly locks intact. When the razor sheared his precious curls away, he squeezed his eyes shut but he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction. 

He’d had no desire since waking up alive and confused after his untimely non-death at the mall to look in a mirror. It had used to be a favorite past time.

Now he wasn’t looking at anything at all as he curled up under his thin blanket, still trembling from the aftereffects of the shocks.

_It’s over._

He kept telling himself that. It was what he’d tell himself right after his father had done his worst; when he’d go after him with a belt or just his fists. 

_It’s over_.

During the thing itself, you just had to live through it. Just get through the pain and then it would be over. Now it was over but just like too many times after his father had gone after him, it wouldn’t leave his head and everything hurt.

_“We’re seeing brain activity in the parietal lobe.” _

One of the doctors had been American. He seemed to be the one advising the others. 

They’d sent shocks coursing through his body, intending to catalyze his powers which would show up as brain activity on their monitors. If there was a significant enough amount of brain activity, they would force him to show them the powers he would not admit to having. Or they’d try anyway.

There _had_ been a significant amount of brain activity.

“Billy,” the American doctor had said, his face shrouded in shadow as he stood behind a tinted window. They’d strapped him to a metal chair. In front of him was a table with blocks on it. “I want you to move the blocks with your mind.”

Billy hadn’t. He hadn’t even pretended to do it. 

The doctors weren’t happy.

When they hurt him after that, it wasn’t to look for brain activity. It was punishment.

“We know you have telekinetic powers,” the American doctor had said. 

He was a severe looking man.

He had a shock of silvery white hair.

They never called him by his name.

They only called him “Doctor.”

“I’ve seen this before,” he’d said to Billy. His voice was deceptively soft as he spoke to Billy through the window. “If you show us your abilities, we can help you. Don’t you want us to help you?”

“Fuck you,” Billy had muttered.

Then they hurt him again.

Now he quivered under the covers, left alone in the dark. He’d been okay with being alone for a while, but now he wished for Hopper. He tried to go into the void just to see another friendly person. If he could just see Max or Steve’s face again, he thought, he’d be okay.

But he was in no state to get into the void. He had to be calmer and more focused for that. Now he was a panicked mess.

_It’s over, it’s over…_

He shut his eyes and pretended he was on his bed mat in his cell with Hopper. Hopper was playing cards. He wasn’t alone. Hopper was right there, playing cards with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth because he smoked more nowadays with Billy around smoking too. Hopper was playing solitaire and singing one of his stupid songs that Billy’s mother had liked.

He felt as if the shadow’s fingers were creeping up around his throat; cold and full of death. He felt like his body wasn’t his own; it was being used to hurt and kill…

Hopper is right there, he told himself. Playing cards.

“I’ve been to the desert on a h-horse with no name,” Billy murmured, his voice echoing in the empty room. “It...felt good to...be out of the rain…”

Time passed like that for a while and Billy had almost fallen asleep even though his stomach was rumbling and expecting dinner soon. When he heard raised voices outside his door, he sat up with a jolt and scooted back on the bed under the blanket, hugging his knees, braced for anything.

The door to his room unlocked and Hopper appeared with Sergei, who was standing there in the doorway, having a heated argument with the guard who was posted outside Billy’s infirmary room. The other guard didn’t seem to want to let Hopper in as the two of them argued. Hopper looked toward Billy and Billy thought he had a funny look in his eyes.

Concern, he supposed. Hopper looked like he was _very_ worried about Billy.

He wasn’t used to that at all.

Finally, the other guard raised his hands and let Hopper through and Sergei grinned, patting Hopper on the back and Hopper walked in, the door shutting and locking behind them. 

Hopper took a good look at Billy, and before he spoke he turned and knocked on the door again. He had a muttered conversation with Sergei, taking something from him before the door closed again.

Hopper held up a book of matches and two cigarettes and Billy unclenched a little.

“Ah…I told Sergei you’re my son,” Hopper said, smiling tightly under his mustache. He pulled up the big steel chair next to Billy’s bed and sat down. “It was a whole thing. I even cried. But it worked. Said you were adopted as a foster kid back in Hawkins. Got me in here anyway.”

Billy nodded. It took a lot of concentration to appear to Hopper like he was holding his shit together on any level but he managed to nod even as a desperate desire for Chief Jim Hopper to be his real father came over him. But he tried to shove that feeling away. 

Hopper handed him the cigarette and it shook between Billy’s lips when he lit it for him. “Last time I saw you,” Hopper said, “you passed out on me. I thought you were sick or something and they took you to the infirmary.”

“Yeah, I was in there for a bit,” Billy mumbled. “But then they took me out and…” He shook his head, taking a long drag, concentrating on the intense relief of the nicotine as he exhaled smoke.

“What’d they do?” Hopper said.

“They, I don’t know...shocked me and shit,” Billy said, rubbing his eyes. “The doctor said there’s brain activity or something like maybe they know I’ve got powers. They tried to get me to use them. But I wouldn’t.”

Hopper smoked and looked Billy, squinting and finally said, “How’d you know what they were saying? Weren’t they-”

“One of the doctors is American,” Billy said. “There was someone translating back and forth.”

“American?” Hopper said.

“Yeah,” Billy said sighing. “Some asshole with a hawk nose and white hair-”

“Son of a _bitch_!” Hawker pounded his knee and Billy jumped and tried to play it off. Hopper waved a hand. “No, no… I’m sorry, kid. That would be Brenner. Grade A asshole. Tortured El her entire childhood. He’s supposed to be dead.”

Billy sat with that a moment, sucking on his smoke. It felt strange to have yet another connection to Eleven. He wished it was something else. “So am I,” he murmured.

“Billy,” Hopper said. He sat forward and took Billy’s left hand in his and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re… You don’t deserve any of this, kid. If I get a chance, I’ll kill him all for ya. Deal?”

Billy took his cigarette out of his mouth with his other hand and stared at the burning end, letting it ash on his sheets. His heart thudded with affection for Hopper and it felt strange and not bad. He bit down hard on his lip, willing himself to hold it together. 

_Don’t be a pussy_.

That didn’t sound like something Hopper would have said to him if Billy had been his boy.

“Eleven heard me,” he said instead, though his voice was thick and gave him away. He looked up at Hopper and cleared his throat. “I said I was with you in Kamchatka. She heard me. They _know_. I’m sure of it”

A slow smile spread across Hopper’s face and he squeezed Billy’s hand. “I knew you could do it.”

It was the kind of approval he wasn’t used to and Billy coughed and looked away, biting down on the filter of his smoke. “I don’t know. I mean how will they get us out even if they do know?”

“No idea,” Hopper said lightly. “We may have to get ourselves out. Still glad they know we’re here and we’re alive.”

“I can do it,” Billy said fiercely, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll get stronger, Chief. I’ll get strong enough to get us out of here before they even know I have powers. I swear-”

He was more riled up than he’d intended and Hopper patted his hand. “Okay, okay. I believe ya, kid. Just hang in there. They told me they’re done with you for now. Okay? Next time they take you away… I don’t know. Maybe we start a riot. But it’s not happening.”

Billy sighed, not believing him but wanting to, and he shook his head. They sat for a bit in the quiet, smoking. He’d get them out. For Hopper and Eleven, he thought again for the millionth time. 

“Sometimes I wish…” He hadn’t intended to speak and he shut his mouth again but Hopper nodded at him.

“What?”

“I wish I was...more like I used to be,” Billy muttered. “Before the shadow. The mind flayer, whatever you call it. Sometimes it was easier. That guy might be fucking useful now.”

Hopper chuckled and shook his head and for a moment it was like the two of them were not in some infirmary room in a prison on a Russian peninsula. It was like they were at Hopper’s place. Just two guys having a smoke, talking quietly about life. 

“You think you were stronger then than you are now?” Hopper said, his mouth turned up in amusement. “You’re not. I remember what you were like every time I’d pull you over, bust up some fight in front of Melvald’s, or catch you drunk and beating up mailboxes. You’re stronger now, Billy. And not because of the powers. I wish you didn’t have to be _this_ strong. But trust me. You’re stronger now.”

The door opened just then and the other guard beckoned Hopper who took a long suffering sigh as he got to his feet and Billy was startled when he patted Billy’s buzzed head.

“Sorry about the hair, kid.”

Then he was gone.

Billy lay back in his head, feeling exponentially calmer. The room was warmer than his cell and the bed was a lot more comfortable than the mat on the ground. But the infirmary carried with it the threat of more shocks and lab rat bullshit and Billy squeezed his eyes shut, as fear of both that and of now being alone overcame him.

They brought him dinner and the guard hung around while he forced himself to eat, for which he was perversely grateful.

“We take you to cell,” the guard said in his thick accent when he took the tray of food back. “In the morning. Now you sleep.”

But Billy didn’t sleep. He couldn’t imagine ever sleeping these days until he was actually asleep. He was alone in the dark and the shadow felt so close. He tried to think about being back in the cell with Hopper.

But what if they changed their minds and tortured him again?

He sat up in bed and pressed his wrists to his eyes. The fear was overwhelming.

His only recourse, he thought, was to go to the void again.

It took him a long time, but he managed to do it. It must have been sometime around three o’clock in the morning when Billy finally managed it. 

He was looking for Steve.

He found the darkness and somehow it was a little comforting now. The void felt like a place where the shadow might hide, but it was also a place where he could find Max and Steve Harrington and Eleven. It was worth the risk. He breathed and focused and finally he saw Steve.

Steve was sitting in an airplane seat.

It took Billy a minute to recognize what it was, but it was definitely a row of airplane seats there in the middle of the pitch-black void. Steve was sitting back and listening to a Walk-Man, an old lady sitting next to him by the window was reading a mystery novel.

Steve was muttering to himself as he listened to his headphones and Billy frowned as he approached, baffled. 

Steve was going somewhere. 

He was wearing a big, fuzzy sweater and a scarf and a hat and his coat was bunched up under his legs. 

But it just felt off somehow and he couldn’t make out what Steve was muttering under his breath, but then he saw the little book that Steve was reading as he listened to his Walk-Man.

_Russian for Beginners_

“Oh shit,” Billy said, his eyes growing big. “Harrington…”

Steve stared straight ahead and he stopped mumbling his Russian phrases and gripped the armrests, taking a deep breath, unaware of Billy in the void watching his every move. “I’m coming, Hargrove. I’m coming to get you. Even if I die trying.”

Billy’s mouth dropped open and he blinked at that pretty boy with the big brown eyes who was always jumping into fights on the side of right and rarely ever won them. 

Steve, who Billy had pegged immediately as _the_ boy, the only boy.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, Steve Harrington,” Billy whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve stood in the middle of the bustling terminal at Charles de Gaulle Airport and chewed his lip, watching with dazed eyes as tourists climbed into taxis. There were screaming Frenchmen everywhere and half of them seem to be yelling at him. He assumed they were offering taxi rides. 

He needed a taxi.

He was waiting for his brain to function again. 

He was jet lagged and his heart was racing.

_I flew to France_.

_Holy shit._

“You want taxi!” The most eager looking taxi driver was waving at him. He was bundled up against the chill air and leaning on a bright yellow Fiat. Steve just blinked.

He couldn’t quite believe that he had actually done it except that he had not actually done anything yet. Still…

_ I flew to France_.

He had been to Paris once before on a European tour with his parents when he was eleven. The airport seemed vaguely familiar. The air smelled different than it did in Hawkins.

A flurry of snow blew into his face and he pulled the hood of his parka up. He was carrying only a backpack. A one-man rescue mission had not seemed like something a person should pack heavily for. 

He had a giant wad of cash stuffed in his backpack and some more money he’d already changed into francs in the airport.

He had been five when his father had taken him to the Hawkins Community Bank and opened a savings account in his name. He had been taught to be respectful of money and he had mostly not paid much attention to that notion, but he had been receiving an allowance since that day in 1971 and a portion of that allowance had been put into the savings account every single month according to his father’s rules. Then there were birthday and Christmas and graduation cash gifts which his father had forced him to put into the savings account. It had always annoyed him but he’d never really wanted for anything anyway. He had come to forget that there was actually money in the savings account and that it could be quite useful someday.

Having decided to fly to Moscow and save the chief of police and his high school rival on a whim, Steve had driven to the Hawkins Community Bank and found that yes, he had five thousand dollars at his disposal.

The plan to get Billy and Hopper was simple: Bribe everybody with his fancy American dollars.

Steve finally summed up his courage and headed toward the eager taxi driver with the Fiat, digging the envelope with Tommy’s address in Paris out of his back pocket.

He hoped the driver spoke English because even given two semesters in French, he couldn’t speak more than about five words of it with any confidence. 

He had studied a book of Russian on the plane for about five minutes and remembered even less than that except for how to ask where the bathroom was and he didn’t think that was going to be very useful for getting Billy out.

“Can you take me here?” He said, showing the driver the envelope.

The driver read the address and nodded and said _oui_ and Steve took his life in his hands and climbed into the back of the Fiat, glad to be out of the snow at least as it pulled out into the packed lanes of traffic heading into Paris.

The ride felt long and Steve watched Paris in the snow blur by. It did not seem real that he was in Paris yet. It seemed crazy that you could climb into what was basically a flying tube for a few hours and then get out and find yourself across the world in a place where everything seemed so different.

He had hoped to see the Eiffel Tower somewhere but it never came into view, just lots of buildings that all looked fancier and older than buildings at home, though some of it reminded him a little of Chicago.

“Music?” The driver called back at him.

“Ah, yeah sure?” Steve said. He trilled his lips and rubbed his eyes. The jet lag was catching up with him. It was about eight in the evening. Tommy was meant to get on a plane in the morning headed for Moscow.

Steve had made it just under the wire.

Maybe.

Dire Straits came on and Steve bobbed his head and at a light the driver turned to sing at him. “I want my MTV!”

Finally, Steve was let off in front of a modest little stone house in a suburban neighborhood. Steve counted out the francs and guessed on the tip and judging by the wide eyes and Cheshire smile of the driver, he guessed he’d far over-tipped.

“_Merci!”_ Steve said as he climbed out of the car, feeling very worldly.

He wrapped his thick scarf tighter around his neck and jogged up to the door through a thin layer of snow on the cobblestone walkway. According to his letters, Tommy had been staying with a host family for the last month. He’d said they were nice enough but that he hated the food.

Steve took a breath, shivering in the chill, and rang the doorbell, praying for the best.

He’d expect Tommy to answer but instead a rotund older woman with a salt and pepper bun and wearing the thickest cable knit sweater Steve had ever seen answered the door, looked him up and down. She started talking rapidly in French. She seemed to be under the impression he was delivering something.

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Steve said, raising his hands. “Tommy Hagen! I’m looking for Tommy Hagen! American? Like me?”

“Ooooh.” She waved a hand and said, “He’s back late. Always back late.”

“Oh.” Steve nodded. He had not accounted for this. He looked around at the snow-covered neighborhood and turned back to the lady who frowned at him as she shivered, even in her cable-knit. “May I...wait? Here? For Tommy? Hagen?” He pointed to her front stoop as if that would clarify things.

She waved a hand and shrugged. “Sure sure.”

“_Merci_!” Steve said, as she let him in. At his single French word, she raised her eyebrows and snorted a laugh and spoke some more. She rambled in French as he made his way into the well-appointed house where a couple of other kids seemed to live according to the pictures in frames on the walls. 

She stopped short, looking at him expectantly, and said, “Food?”

“Oh...oh sure.” He shrugged, having been taught that it was as rude to turn down hospitality as it was to take too much advantage of it. “Thank you. _Merci_!”

“Sure sure.” She waved a hand and led him into her kitchen. The place was nice, the walls adorned with shelves cluttered with porcelain animals though they were more quirky than cutesy. The rooms were smaller than he was used to, it seemed, but the effect was very homey. She sat him down in her kitchen and bustled about, putting food on a platter and water onto boil. She must have been used to strange teenagers showing up at her door, he thought. That made sense if she had kids of her own and hosted exchange students on top of it. 

“Bread and cheese!” She sat down across from him at the table and set down a wooden board with a miniature feast atop it and Steve’s empty stomach grumbled approval. “Fruit…”

“You’re...nice,” he said, blushing and feeling stupid. “Thank you. _Merci_.”

  
“Sure sure. Eat!” They both ate and she made him drink some tea that tasted weird and a little like dirt to him but he didn’t complain. She had a little TV on her kitchen counter and they watched some dramatic French TV show. He entertained himself with attempting to figure out the plot as he jogged his leg under the table, trying not to worry about whether he would get away with this insane caper.

It was another hour of awkwardly watching French television with the lady who had since introduced herself as Celeste and who kept turning her head to laugh when there was an apparently good joke on TV except that Steve never got the jokes unless they were slapstick, but wanting to be a good guest he nodded and laughed along too.

When the front door slammed shut, Steve sat up straight. Celeste got to her feet and went out to greet whoever had just come inside. Steve’s ears perked up and it felt like a kind of miracle when he heard Tommy H. quietly speaking French before he ran into the kitchen and stopped short at the door, staring at Steve with wide eyes.

“_Steve!_” Tommy said. “Holy shit! What’re you doing here, man?”

Steve got to his feet, took a deep breath, and said, “Hey, man.”

“Jesus!” Tommy clapped him on the back and Steve got an immediate rush of nerves as he ran a hand through his hair. He was led down a hall and into a tiny bedroom where Tommy all but shoved him into a floral print chair, plopping down on his bed. “Shit, man. What’re you doing in Paris? You just hanging out? Take a year to chill? You should have found me before! I’ve been here for weeks but I’m going to Moscow tomorrow. Did you get my letter-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “Actually, that’s what I…” He bit down on his lip so hard he thought he might draw blood. “That’s why I came here. I have to ask you to do something. And it’s gonna sound crazy… Like really crazy.”

He met Tommy’s gaze and didn’t look away, attempting in some way to impart that this was _important_. Hopefully, Tommy would get it without Steve having to explain too much.

“Steve?” Tommy said warily. “What’s goin’ on?”

Steve had seen Tommy pissed before but he had rarely seen Tommy concerned for another person’s well being excepting Carol. It looked almost strange on his freckled face as his brows drew together.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “The thing is, I need to go to Moscow. In your place. I want to switch with you.”

Tommy just stared at him and then his face screwed up, his mouth twisting. “_What_?”

“I have to go to Moscow,” Steve said again, as if the only trouble might be that Tommy had not heard him correctly. “So I want to switch with you tomorrow. Go in our place. You have your own ticket, right? Like on you?”

“Yes…” Tommy said, frowning.

“Great.”

“Steve-”

“I’ll give you fifteen-hundred bucks,” Steve said. “Cash. I just need the ticket and the clearance to get in. With fifteen-hundred, you could go crazy in Paris or wherever you want for a while longer and still have cash to fly home. No one’ll even know. I mean what’re you gonna do in Moscow anyway? It’s not exactly party central, right?”

“What are you…” Tommy laughed and shook his head. “Why would you want to go to Moscow? What’s in Moscow?”

“I can’t tell you,” Steve said firmly. He dug into his backpack and peeled off the crisp bills before holding them up in his fist for Tommy to see. “Fifteen-hundred bucks, Tommy. Someday maybe I’ll explain but I can’t now. What’ll it be?”

Tommy stared at him and opened and closed his mouth. His gaze drifted over to the cash in Steve’s hand. “Eighteen hundred,” Tommy said. “But I’m telling you right now, when this doesn’t work and you come looking for me because you’re stuck in Paris, I’m keeping the cash, Steve. No refunds. I’ll have missed my flight to Moscow after all.”

“Deal,” Steve said. Tommy grinned and spit into his hand and grabbed Steve’s to shake it and Steve winced. “That wasn’t necessary.”

When Tommy broke the handshake, Steve wiped his hands on his jeans. Celeste had already offered to let him stay the night in the living room, so used to floating teenagers as she was. Now that their business was concluded, Steve felt sleep behind his eyes and exhaustion in his bones but Tommy was looking at him funny.

“Steve, man to man,” Tommy said. “Between you and me. What the hell are you into that you have to go to goddamn Moscow?”

“There’s someone there I have to help,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Well, two people.”

“Well, what’re they, defecting from Mother Russia or some shit?”  


“Something like that,” Steve said, unable to contain a yawn. “Shit, I gotta sleep.”

“Steve…” Tommy just laughed and shook his head, and he picked up his own backpack up off the floor and dug inside for his airplane ticket, handing it over. “Flight’s at eight. You have to meet the group at the terminal and they'll take you through customs. You’re crazy.”

“Oh yeah.” Steve said, managing grin as he took the ticket. “Totally crazy.”

* * *

“Wait...who are you?” The tour coordinator frowned at Steve who smiled his most charming smile. He’d had just enough time to cover how this might go with Robin before he’d left for Paris. He was standing just outside the crowd of fifty or so students who were all waiting to go through customs and take their flights into the U.S.S.R. 

He wished he was drunk or high or that Robin was with him. Or Dustin. Erica Sinclair would have been helpful about now. Any of them. He was so wracked with nerves, he was losing his mind.

But he just kept his charming smile frozen on his face. It might not have helped at Scoops with everyone who already knew him but it was his best hope now, he thought.

“Steve Harrington,” he said smoothly. “Oh, actually you might have me under Tommy Hagen. There was a mix-up. I thought it had been corrected but…”

“What mix-up?” The coordinator said, frowning. She only seemed confused. Steve counted that in his favor. She didn’t seem at all suspicious that some random kid might be embarking on some highly dangerous, unauthorized sojourn into the Soviet Union for the purposes of breaking two supposedly dead Americans out of a top-secret prison.

So that was good.

“Oh, we were supposed to take this tour together,” Steve said, chuckling. “See, we both got into Northwestern and this was going to be our last big hoorah, not that I haven’t been _learning_ things, of course. This has been very educational. But anyway, ole Hagen ended up with some internship at his father’s firm. They offered it to me too but I thought I’d get out, see the world, really find myself but I guess the paperwork got mixed up when he pulled out and we applied as a pair, see, but if it’s a problem I can always call my father. He’s a _lawyer_-”

“Okay, okay, okay!” The coordinator rolled her eyes and wrote a note on her clipboard. “How did this not…? Shit. Okay, _fine_. Get in line with the others.”

“Thanks.” Steve winked at her and turned on his heel, getting in line at customs behind a cluster of girls who giggled when he smiled at them. 

He felt like James Bond.

* * *

Steve had read the love letter Billy had written more times than he cared to count. It was the first thing outside of _Sports Illustrated_ or _Rolling Stone_ that he’d read happily and with some excitement, folding it and refolding it and keeping it in his back pocket until the folds had threatened to tear the pages and he’d begrudgingly returned it to its shoebox. He’d listened to the mixed tape that Billy had made for him over and over. He wished he had it now. All he’d taken with him from the shoebox was the inexplicable bottle cap that Billy had collected. He hadn’t wanted to take the chance of losing anything else.

Now on the plane from Paris to Moscow, Steve closed his eyes and recited bits and pieces of the letter and saw visions of what Eleven had seen on the beach in his head.

_I miss your eyes._

Billy had written that he’d noticed each time Steve had been kind to someone in a class they shared. That he’d hated it at first, as if Steve was nice to people just to stick it to him somehow and then later he’d craved it. He’d written that seeing Steve be nice to somebody felt like standing in someone else’s sunlight. He’d written that he could only even put that down on paper because he was drunk.

_I’ll bet your mouth tastes like honey_, Billy had written. 

Steve grimaced, his cock swelling in his pants as he imagined a boy he’d thought to be dead saying that in his ear, his voice low and filled with promise.

He hadn’t just been fascinated by the letter, the contents of the box, and everything he’d learned about Billy Hargrove since his death. He’d been obsessed. He’d found himself staring at Billy’s yearbook picture.

He had possibly also jerked off to Billy’s yearbook picture. That he was attracted to a guy wasn’t entirely new although he’d been shocked to learn via Robin that it wasn’t weird to be attracted to both guys and girls. That explained _that_.

He gripped the armrests and sat back, his ears popping unpleasantly, his cock still perking up in interest even as he tried not to think too hard about Billy Hargrove the few times he’d stopped by the pool while Billy had worked there.

That body…

That body had to be all fucked up now. Steve had seen exactly what the monster had done to Billy before he’d ostensibly died. Now it made his heart ache.

_But he’s alive_.

Billy was alive. Steve didn’t think he’d really believe it until he saw it for himself. He’d seen monsters and too many other strange things to take a phantom voice from the void for granted even if Max had heard it too.

Still, Eleven said so and she was...Eleven.

What was Billy even like now? What had Billy truly been like before?

A voice spoke over the loudspeaker on the plane in Russia and people shifted and muttered in their seats. The announcement repeated in English and Steve took a deep breath.

They were landing in Moscow.

Steve's heart beat like a jackhammer as the plane descended and landed, everything outside the window looking mostly like a blanket of white broken by an endless sprawl of dark streets and gray buildings. 

_What was I thinking? Oh holy shit, what was I thinking? I must be out of my mind_!

The thoughts raced around in his head to no end even as he dutifully imitated everyone else and calmly disembarked with his backpack. He followed the arrows and the rest of the educational tour students, pretending he was one of them all the way through a security check that went quickly even though the line took hours until they were all herded down to the baggage claim. Steve only had his backpack and he ducked his head and buttoned his coat, swiftly marching right past the tour chaperone and down two terminals before going back inside the airport to find a currency exchange. 

He’d gone over some of this with Robin who was pragmatic even if she didn’t know much more than he did about he would navigate Moscow on his own.

“Just bribe everyone,” she’d said shrugging. 

Steve changed a bunch of money over and went out to catch one of the hundred ancient looking taxicabs lining the streets. Everyone seemed to peg him as American immediately.

Steve had lived through some severe Indiana winters but the cold of Moscow just as December was turning to January was not to be believed. He wrapped his scarf under his nose and bounced on his toes as the stinging snow whipped his face.

He couldn’t take a taxi cab all the way to Kamchatka. It was probably days away. That much he knew, having looked at a map with Robin before he’d left for the airport.

“Train station?” He said to the driver, hoping for some understanding of English.

“_Da da._” The driver waves his hand and Steve sat back, breathing deep.

Steve nodded and sat back in his seat. 

_I’m coming, Billy._

_Eventually_.

* * *

“What is your business in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky?”

The man at the window in the train station looked very stern and spoke perfect English

“I’m...studying there,” Steve said, his face heating up which was at least keeping him a little warmer as even the inside of the train station in Moscow was freezing. 

Everyone here over the age of about 25 looked miserable, cold, and grey. The younger people seemed much more animated. There was a group of teenagers who looked no different than Hawkins High kids singing “Billie Jean” as they waited for their train. Though when they caught an evil eye for their nonsense, they quieted down again.

“I’m a student,” Steve said, as if to drive the point home. He kept his eyes on the man in the little window and feeling as if he were having an out of body experience he slid an absurd amount of money across the counter. “I understand if the ticket is very expensive,” he said crisply.

The man blinked at him, took the money, and handed him a form. “Fill this out.”

“Sure.” Steve took the form.

NAME:

The man had no asked him for an ID. He was pretty sure that was not at issue what with the sizeable bribe and all so Steve took the pen on the counter and chewed his lip as he filled in the line.

NAME: Alex P. Keaton.

The wait for the train seemed like the worst part of the entire journey so far. Steve huddled in an uncomfortable chair, bundled up, and staring at an old man holding a dog in his lap. The place got more and more crowded and Steve kept staring at his ticket even though there was not a word of English on it. 

Every single time a train arrived, he jumped from his seat to make sure it wasn’t his.

He felt every moment as if he were about to be taken away and sent to some gulag, which was probably silly, he thought, since he was attempting to break into a prison anyway.

Finally, the train to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky was boarding. 

Steve hitched his backpack on his shoulder and tried to look Russian.

* * *

“Three days.” Steve said the words flatly, staring out the window as the snowy vista rolled by, the train rolling over the tracks. 

He had not realized the train ride was _three days long_. It wasn’t as if he had one of those little rooms with the bed that came out of the wall...which was what he’d pictured when he’d imagined taking a train ride through Russia. This wasn’t like that at all. His seat was cramped and uncomfortable and the car was full. Two little old ladies across from him were talking to each other but when he spoke English aloud, they gave him a vaguely suspicious look before going back to their conversation.

He had thought the train ride would be several hours, sure. 

But three days!

He only knew it because he had asked the conductor when he’d clipped his ticket before asking Steve twenty questions about why a young American kid was taking a train through Russia way the hell up to Kamchatka _by himself_. Finally he’d said he really didn’t want to know. Steve had slipped him several bills and the conductor had gone pale and thanked him, waving him inside.

At least the bribes were working anyway.

Steve had a book that he was somewhat surprised had not been confiscated when he’d brought it with him. It was _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ which Billy had mentioned was his favorite book in the letter. He kept trying to read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t concentrate on the thought of anything but the idea of what he had done and all because Billy Hargrove had died and written him a letter.

_I saw you in that dumb ice cream uniform. But you were so goddamn pretty, I couldn’t breathe._

_I wish I could start over. Not just you. Every goddamn thing_.

He wished he had that letter. He would never have brought the original with him. But he could’ve gone to the library and made photo copies. 

He laughed out loud to himself at the thought, catching the attention of the old ladies. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, already having forgotten one of the few Russian words he’d learned. He sat back in his paperback, on his lap, and for the millionth time, he hoped he wasn’t too late.


	9. Chapter 9

Billy had a bad dream so they sedated him.

He had been so close to getting back to his cell. The hospital bed was comfortable and all but he was only on edge that they’d put him back in that room with the electrodes and that Doctor Brenner with the silvery-white hair. He wanted to get back to his cell with Hopper and his less comfortable sleeping mat. He wanted to play cards and listen to Hop’s stupid songs and get too cold and eat his lumpy gruel. 

Here he was alone and the hospital room got darker than the cell that always had at least dim lights on overhead even at night. The hospital room could get so dark that Billy couldn’t see his hand in front of him. He’d end up paralyzed, thinking the shadow could be right there in bed with him. 

That’s what had happened the night before when he’d dropped off to sleep.  
He’d dreamed he was back at Brimborn Steelworks, that thing on his face, penetrating him and taking over his body and much of his mind. He’d known then what it was like to have no control, to be rendered helpless. 

_The thing was on his face, forcing itself down his throat…_

Billy had woken up screaming and thrashing and when the guard had come in, Billy had tried to fight him. He could have been killed. Instead, Doctor Brenner had come as they’d restrained him and given him a shot that knocked him on his ass for days.

The sedative put him out.

But it didn’t make the dreams go away.

He was trapped with the shadow in nightmares. Except that this time he couldn’t wake up. 

When he finally did, he was back in his cell, but this time he was alone.

“Hopper!” Billy screamed. “Chief!”

_What if they had killed Hopper_?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it but he had already fallen apart a couple of times and he was getting sick to death of it. He sat in the corner of his cell and took deep breaths. He closed his eyes and tried to think logically. All he knew was that he was in a cell alone. There was no reason to think Hopper was dead. The guards had probably just separated them. But that alone was awful.

He couldn’t be alone. He _couldn’t_ be…

He rubbed his eyes and he was quiet like that for a while; just breathing and attempting to get his head around the situation, when there was a knock on his cell door and then it was creaking open, slowly. Billy stayed huddled in his corner.

It was only Sergei, looking congenial and carrying the radio he’d procured for them as well as a shoebox. He was rambling in Russian and Billy was clueless. But he suspected now that Hopper was just being held in a different cell and had begged Sergei to take Billy some of their things; smokes, cards, comics, matches…

Billy only hugged his knees and watched the guard set the box and radio on the bench beside him.

When the guard was gone, Billy wasted no time lighting himself a cigarette and that helped. He sat back and took long, slow drags and wondered where the hell Steve Harrington was. Billy had seen him on a plane in the void and that had definitely been a few days ago.

It occurred to him that maybe he had been wrong about the whole thing. It was insane to think that Steve Harrington of _all_ people would haul off and go to Russia to what, save Billy and Hopper? By _himself_? He must have been going somewhere else. The guy was loaded, right? He was probably just listening to Russian tapes on a whim. Who knew why Harrington did anything?

Except that Steve had said he was coming for him… Maybe he wasn’t literally coming for him. Maybe he was going to find somebody else who would try to help them?

Billy consoled himself with that, even if the thought of likely never seeing Harrington again was painful. It was also safer. Because if Steve had been on his way to Billy, surely he should be here by now. He would never have made it in, Billy thought. It would surely mean his death.

No, it was definitely better to believe that Steve was far away. London, Paris. Who knew where. 

He would look into the void later and find out. He would look in on Hopper too. 

And if he couldn’t find Hopper…

“Shut up,” he muttered around his cigarette, wishing his racing brain could just give it a rest. “Shut up, shut up…”

* * *

Getting back into the void was rough. It hadn’t even been very long but he already felt out of practice. Hopper had included the strip of fabric he’d used as a blindfold and Billy wore it as he listened to the squelch on the radio, sitting cross-legged on the floor and trying to hone in on absolute nothingness.

It took nearly a day to get in and then to find Hopper. The relief he felt was startling. Tears crept up behind his eyes when he saw Hopper sitting there in the void, looking no worse for wear as he played solitaire and smoked. 

The guards, Billy figured, would have told Hopper he was alright. So Billy left him to himself but for a while he only stood there and watched Hopper alive in front of him, content in his routine. It was strange to look right at someone and miss them at the same time. 

The void was cold and Billy wrapped his arms around himself, smiling softly when Hopper pumped his fist because he’d won a game. 

Hopper had not abandoned him or given up. He felt a renewed sense of purpose to save him.

He’d get them out. 

Somehow, he would get them out.

He popped out of the void and a rush of nausea and exhaustion overwhelmed him and made him gag before falling right to sleep.

It took Billy another few hours to gather his strength and find Steve Harrington in the void. 

But once Billy found him, he wasn’t tired or sad or sick.

He wasn’t even afraid

He was angry.

“Who do you work for?” The thick accent of the guard hissing into Steve’s ear made it hard for Billy to understand him at first.

Steve was strapped to a chair and his lip was split but he was smiling. “Family Video. Ya know...the last guy hit harder than you.”

Billy didn’t recognize the guard. That meant Steve could be anywhere. Billy’s mind raced. Steve could be in Moscow. Steve could be in some secret Soviet base in another country… There was no telling…

“Family Video?” A man appeared in the void behind Steve and it was Dr. Brenner. Billy felt rage like he hadn’t felt it since long before the shadow as Brenner crouched beside Steve and eyed him with disinterest. “You’re from Hawkins, aren’t you? What are you doing in Kamchatka, Hawkins?”

Steve blinked at him and spat blood on the floor before flatly saying, “Fuck you.”

Brenner said, “Get the pliers.”

“GUARD!” Billy screamed and Steve and the guard and Brenner looked right at him. The void disappeared around him and Billy’s stomach heaved even as he staggered to his feet and ran to the door of his cell. He pounded on it and yelled for a guard. “GUARD! HEY, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! GUARD! I CAN DO IT! I GOT POWERS! I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! GUAAAAAARD!”

* * *

“Reagan?” The doctor they sent to collect Billy wasn’t Brenner. Brenner was likely still questioning Steve and who knew what they were doing to him. “What about Reagan?”

They were all crowded into his cell and so far everyone just looked confused.

Billy took a deep breath. His hands were shaking. All he could think about was Steve Harrington being taken apart piece by piece somewhere on the premises.

“I can spy!” Billy said. “That was one of the things Brenner wanted me to do? Spy? I can see Reagan! See what the hell he’s talkin’ about! Don’t you want to know shit?”

The doctor looked suspicious. He stroked his chin and said, “Yes…”

“Just stop torturing that new guy,” Billy said, fighting to remain still, his voice shaking. He felt like he was vibrating. “Brenner’s questioning him right now, yeah? Let Steve go and I’ll do whatever the hell you want! I’ll show you Reagan! I’ll go the Pentagon! I’ll move the blocks! Whatever it is! Let him go!”

_And if you don’t I’ll figure out how to disembowel all you bastards with my mind_, he thought.

The doctor nodded to the guard and said, “Tell Brenner he stops now.”  
The guard hurried out of the room and Billy unclenched slightly. 

As it happened, by the time the doctor and a second guard cuffed Billy and escorted him from his cell he saw Steve being dragged in his direction by Sergei and another guard.

There he was. He wasn’t in the void somewhere now. He was real and he was right in front of Billy, looking half conscious, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

“Harrington,” Billy whispered.

It made no sense. None of it made sense. The last time Billy had seen Steve Harrington in _real_ life the guy had plowed into him with a Cadillac and nearly killed him which, he well knew, had been a reasonable move at the time. Billy had beaten the shit out of Harrington. Billy was in love with Steve Harrington, and seeing him there, bleeding and as always, beaten up, and now being dragged to a cell by Russian guards... It made as much sense to Billy as seeing a puppy in a tutu being dragged to a cell by Russian guards.

It didn’t compute. 

They were nearly on top of each other and Billy swallowed, finding himself too nervous or too _something_ to say Steve’s name and make him look up, assuming Steve was even in any state to know what he was seeing or where he was. 

But just as they came within a few feet each other Billy said, “Hey, pretty boy!”

Steve looked up and there was some stupid part of Billy that was tickled pink that Steve would look right up when Billy called him “pretty boy.” Steve looked at him and smiled tiredly and said, “Hey, Hargrove.”

That was it. 

They took Billy away and they dragged Steve to a cell but now Billy found himself smiling, a slow grin spreading across his face as they pushed him along. 

_Steve Harrington smiled at me_, he thought.

* * *

“You couldn’t move blocks before,” Brenner said, narrowing his eyes. “Now you’re going to spy on Reagan for us?”

“I just need a picture,” Billy said. He had never actually tried to see someone in the void who he didn’t know at least a little. He knew Eleven had been able to do it with a picture of the person, according to Hopper. He supposed he really didn’t need a picture of President Reagan. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what the man looked like with his lizard face and his wrinkly neck and slick hair. But Billy thought he’d use any tool he could get. So maybe that was enough. As far as the betrayal of his country went, he really didn’t give a shit. As long as Steve was safe, that was all that mattered. It was bad that Brenner and the others would know he had powers. Christ knew what they’d do with him now.

But _Steve Harrington_ was safe.

They’d put Billy in a room and strapped him to a chair. He was pretty sure it was the same room where they’d just been holding Harrington and Billy glance down at the blood on the floor and wondered if it was his. 

“Get him a picture,” Brenner said, to one of the guards.

“Of...Reagan?” The guard. “We don’t-”

“Get a newspaper or something,” Brenner said. “Jesus…”

The picture was in black and white and torn from the front page of _Pravda_. “I need a blindfold,” Billy said. “And...white noise.”

Billy tried. They’d let Steve go, or anyway they’d stopped torturing him. He hadn’t been pretending. He sat there blindfolded and listening to white noise. He was, however, distracted by the rage he felt toward Brenner who’d dared to put his hands on Steve. 

But he didn’t have the strength to take on Brenner. He would only get himself killed and he couldn’t do that, not after promising Hopper…

He listened to the white noise and tried to stay calm and focused on the stupid president of the United States. He could see that douchebag so clearly in his head after several years of sitting silently on the couch as his dad lectured him about patriotism while clips of Reagan’s speeches played on the news.

Billy got into the void for a minute but Reagan wasn’t there. He felt like he got close a few times but he was distracted thinking about Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know how long they kept him there but finally a guard backhanded him across the face, drawing blood. Brenner admonished the guard for hitting him and said to Billy, “Anything? I know you’re doing your best.”

He looked so genuine, almost kind. Manipulation, Billy thought. Back and forth, back and forth.

He knew all about that.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “I saw him in the Oval Office.”

Brenner gave him a long look and his expression didn’t change. Billy couldn’t read him at all now and he thought he was decent at reading people. “Did you?”

“Yeah, he was… But he was just talking about drugs.”

Drugs. Drugs sounded good. Reagan was always talking about fucking drugs. Drugs and Libya or something.

“I see,” Brenner said, nodding. “And you’re sure he was in the Oval Office?”

“Yeah…”

“Interesting since he’s in Israel this week,” Brenner mused, tipping his head.

_Fuck._

“I-”

“Who is this boy to you?” Brenner whispered. “The boy we found sneaking in here?”

Billy shut his mouth and scowled and said: “Fuck you.”

“Take him back to his cell.” Brenner sighed heavily and as they dragged him away he heard Brenner say, “This isn’t over.”

* * *

Brenner left them and when Billy was alone with the guards they knocked him around a bit. 

“That was for wasting our time,” the bigger one said. 

It wasn’t too bad, Billy figured. Considering. He was probably lucky not to be dead and he’d had so much worse even from his own father. The familiarity of it all was a lot less scary than the lab. His left cheek felt swollen and his ribs were bruised up but eventually they dragged him back to his cell to his relief. 

Steve was safe for now. That was the point. Now he just wanted to sleep and figure out the next thing in the morning after some cold and disgusting breakfast. 

He wasn’t paying attention when they dropped him in his cell and tripped him before he could walk so he hit the ground with a grunt. 

“Motherfuckers,” he mumbled. He was sore from being strapped to the chair and tensed in concentration for so long. He was exhausted and nauseated from trying to get into the void. Now he groaned and struggled to sit up.

A voice softly said, “Billy?” It echoed in the cell.

_No way._

Suddenly, hands were helping him, gently taking his shoulders as he sat up and got his bearings. Steve Harrington was kneeling in front of him. He had a bruise under his eye and on his chin, and his lip was bleeding but he looked otherwise unharmed, if disheveled. 

He was the most beautiful thing Billy had ever seen.

He’d hit the jackpot. He was in a secret Soviet prison and he was malnourished, beaten up, shellshocked, and too cold. But for a moment, he could not believe his luck. 

“Harrington,” Billy whispered. He was locked in a cell with Steve Harrington who didn’t even hate him anymore. “Jesus. Didn’t figure I’d end up with you.”

“Are you okay?” Steve said.

It was such an insane question to Billy’s mind that he didn’t know how to answer it. Steve seemed to catch on and ducked his head, looking sheepish. “Of course, you’re not. So they buzzed your hair, huh?” Steve let him go and Billy wished he wouldn’t, but the two of them crawled over to the wall and sat down next to each other, folding up their legs.

Billy winced. He hated to think what he looked like with buzzed hair. His ears stuck out no doubt. “Yeah. They were sticking electrodes to my head.” Billy shook his head and gawked at Steve, grabbing for the shoebox with the smokes and the matches. “Can’t believe you’re really here, Harrington. Christ.”

“Yeah…” 

Billy offered Steve a smoke and he took it, looking profoundly grateful when Billy lit a match and he took a deep drag. “Crazy, right?”

Billy took a long drag, enough to take the edge off a little. He wished he had some booze. But he sat back, his entire face aching and it didn’t matter because his right leg was pressed up against Harrington’s. 

“_Why_?” Billy said. “Why the hell are you here? You out of your mind?”

“Oh, ya know…” He smiled at Billy around his cigarette, his plush lips a little distracting. Billy felt like he’d built up a facade around Steve _before_, before the shadow. It was all gone now. He couldn’t remember how to put up that front with Steve at all and maybe it didn’t matter.

Steve had read that letter.

“I didn’t have anything better to do,” Steve said, his split lip curving into a grin. “Besides, I do this shit all the time really. Old hat by now. Steve Harrington breaking into a Russian prison is just another Tuesday for this guy.”

Billy snorted at that and finally thought to ask, “Any chance this is all part of your big plan?”

“Ah…” Steve looked sheepish and scratched his head before sticking the smoke between his lips again. He frowned and blew smoke. “Nah, my plan was… So I found the prison and for a while I staked it out and then I saw this one guard who was always by himself out back where there’s kind of a blind spot? So the plan was to bribe a guy to get you two out. Robin and I talked about it for the longest. We figured a regular guy working as a guard in Russia isn’t gonna turn down a bribe, right? So I had a note and a bunch of cash...”

“Uh huh…”

“Yeah, so okay, I didn’t count on the guy taking the money but screwing me over.” He shrugged as if he’d done nothing more than get a shitty grade on one of Mr. Hoover’s pop quizzes in English Lit. “But it _almost_ worked.”

Billy stared at him blankly, as if trying to uncover some hidden meaning and finding nothing there but a complete lack of guile he burst out laughing. It hurt his cheek to laugh and he didn’t care, his head falling back against the wall as he smoked next to Steve Harrington. His laugh echoed in the cell and he saw the corners of Steve’s mouth turn up while he watched Billy.

“Insane,” Billy said. “Certifiable. And I should know.”

“I mean I had to come,” Steve said then, staring down at his shoes. They’d changed him into the same awful olive green canvas uniform Billy wore but let him keep his shiny American Nikes for some reason. They looked bizarre in the context of the cell but the little white swoop on Steve’s shoe was also oddly comforting. “I had to come because… I…”

He was going to talk about the letter. Billy closed his eyes and sighed. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He already felt stripped bare. He had felt like that since the shadow. “Don’t,” he murmured.

Steve made a little unhappy noise but he said, “Alright. We don’t have to talk about it now. Why don’t you tell me what the hell’s been happening with you since you supposedly died?”

* * *

Billy was laughing. 

There were tears in his eyes, he was laughing so hard.

“And then…” Steve could barely speak as he was breathless with laughter himself. “And then Tommy B. is dancing around in the tiger suit but he’s not doing the skit thing the cheerleaders wrote, like he’s totally rogue-”

“I know!” Billy wiped his eyes. “Oh my God, I remember-”

“And you threw that slice of bologna, landed _right_ on his big ole tiger nose!”

“I have great aim. Always have.”

“I gotta admit, that cracked me up, man,” Steve said, giggling. “And that was _after_ you beat the shit out of me!”

They’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes already, the very notion of rationing having gone right out the window once they’d got to talking. Billy took a drag and rubbed his eyes.

Steve had already suffered through his first dinner at Chateau Kamchatka. He’d managed to eat all of it with Billy’s prodding. Billy had caught him up on everything he could stand to talk about since that night at the Starcourt Mall. He knew now that his father had left Hawkins after Susan had kicked him out and the thought that she’d done it only after Billy had supposedly died filled him with a kind of frustration he could hardly name, even if he couldn’t quite blame her because his father had gotten him to do a lot of shitty things and kept Susan under a similarly firm thumb for a long time. But at least Max was okay.  
Since then, they’d just been bullshitting.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Shit, I’m an asshole. I kept meaning to ask. Do you know where Hopper is now?”

He had already told Steve about how they’d shared a cell. He’d even talked at length about Hopper’s singing and done a decent impression of the Chief’s attempt at The Doobie Brothers.

Billy said, “Oh...”

The scrape of stone on stone interrupted them, as if on cue. It was coming from the back left corner of the cell and they both turned their heads to see a bit of the wall crumble away. 

Somebody was poking a hole through the wall.

“What the hell,” Billy muttered, and they both crawled over to the wall to watch as bits of wall fall to the ground bit by bit until they could see through a little hole into the next cell over.

“Hargrove!” Hopper’s voice was a relief and Billy hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about Hopper until he heard it. 

“Chief!” Billy said. 

Hopper had a spoon and a shiv he’d fashioned from playing cards and he was using both tools to poke the hole, though Billy suspected the hole had been started by another prisoner. He couldn’t see how a spoon would break through that rock, even if it was probably a little decayed. 

“Shit, kid,” Hopper said, sighing. Billy crouched down and saw into Hopper’s cell. He looked just fine, if a bit tired. “Good to see you. I wasn’t even sure you were in this cell. It was just a suspicion. Goddamn. I thought you might be dead.” He rubbed his eyes and Billy saw they were glassy. “Jesus Christ…”

Billy bit his lip and poked his finger through the hole; a gesture of solidarity.

“Eh, I’m alright,” Billy said, finding himself smiling. “Plus, I got Harrington here.”

“Who?”

Steve crouched down beside Billy and peeked through the hole. “Hey, Chief Hopper.”

“_Harrington?_” 

Billy had never heard anyone make the gear shift from confused to infuriated within three syllables but he heard it now. He could also see Hopper through the hole; his eyes narrowing. He chewed his bottom lip through the beard that had grown over his broad chin. “_Steve_...Harrington… What in the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Hopper did not sound amused.

“I’m…” Steve cleared his throat and shifted around. He was on his hands and knees which Billy now realized provided a magnificent view of his nicely rounded ass. He stared at it for a second, blinking dumbly as they spoke. “I’m uh… I’m rescuing you?”

“Yeah?” Hopper growled. “How’s that working out so far?”

“Well, it was going pretty good until recently.”

“Oh that’s great,” Hopper muttered to himself. “That’s real great. Now I got two of em’.”

“Chief,” Billy said quietly. “I’m gonna work on the powers shit, alright? I’ll work on it, I’ll get stronger. I’ll get us all outta here like I promised.”

Hopper rubbed his eyes and he knelt, fixing Billy with a stern look. “Hey, you be careful, kid. Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve been through too much shit already.” He frowned and said, “Steve! Hey, Harrington!” 

Steve shoved up against Billy, peeking through the hole again. “Yeah, Chief?”

“I need you to keep an eye on him,” Hopper said firmly. “Look after him for me, alright? He gets sick sometimes when he uses his powers, so watch out for that-”

“I’m _fine_,” Billy grumbled.

“I’m talking to Harrington!”

“Yeah!” Steve said. “Shut up!”

“Make sure he doesn’t push himself too hard,” Hopper said. “And make sure he’s eating _and_ drinking water. And _sleeping_. He gets nightmares-”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy muttered, his cheeks burning He could just feel Steve staring at him. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid, Chief!”

“Yeah, you are,” Hopper said, as if Billy was about nine and not eighteen. “That’s your job now, Harrington. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t,” Steve said. “Hey Chief? El’s doing okay…”

“I was just about to ask,” Hop said, sighing. 

“Yeah, she’s with Mrs. Byers. But they all moved out of town after you...ya know.”

“Huh…” Hopper sounded a little grief stricken at that but also resigned. “Yeah. I figured Joyce would… It’s safer too. But El’s okay?”

“Yeah! Totally.”

“Lights out!” The guard’s thickly accented holler rang out nearby and Hopper sighed.

Sometimes they sprang surprise inspections on you at light’s out. That meant they had to plug up the hole. “Okay, goodnight, guys,” Hopper said, even as he stuffed a couple of the rocks and a bit of old sock into the hole he’d created. “Watch out for yourselves. I’ll talk to when I talk to ya.”

“Later, Chief,” Billy said.

“G’night, Chief,” Steve whispered. 

* * *

“Billy?” Steve whispered.

They had lain down on their respective mats, a respectful distance apart. Billy had turned over on his side away from Steve, but he was still keenly aware that Harrington was lying down right behind him, that their backs were just inches apart. It was tempting to want to scoot just a little bit closer.

But he had remained still, with his eyes shut, pretending like sleep was actually going to claim him.

He knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.

He was much too alert for that.

Because _Steve._..was right there...just inches away….

“You aren’t asleep,” Steve said decisively. Billy was annoyed that he somehow knew.

“What is it, Harrington?” Billy said.

They had no reason to be particularly quiet, yet they still spoke in whispers. 

“I know you don’t want me to talk about the letter,” Steve said. His voice cracked; it was low then soft then a little too high. Billy shut his eyes, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure how long he could bear to listen to Steve’s voice when it sounded like that, especially if he was going to talk about the letter. 

But he only breathed.

In the dark, it was at least a little easier than in the light.

He at least wasn’t afraid of the shadow returning when Steve was right there.

“What about it?” Billy whispered.

“I liked it,” Steve said. His voice was soft yet the declaration sounded like a crack of thunder somehow and it set Billy’s heart to racing painfully. “I read it and...I freaked out. I felt like I was getting to know you like here was this guy I thought… I knew who he was. But I didn’t. And I sure as hell didn’t know…”

_That you were in love with me._

“Yeah,” Billy said. 

“Just when I read it,” Steve went on, “it felt like I knew you then. But it was too late and you were gone. I just got really...sad. I guess. I was grieving? So when it turned out I could try to get you back, well I had to try. I just… I’m sorry for everything that happened to you. I’m sorry nobody helped. Max and I talked about that.”

It was too much somehow. It was dizzying. Billy felt a paralyzing fear so sudden and so overpowering that he couldn’t place the source, but he huddled on his mat and hugged himself, shutting his eyes. 

“You don’t know me,” he said, his voice shaking badly. “You think you know me ‘cause you read one stupid letter, Harrington?”

“Well, no, I mean not like completely but-”

“You don’t know me, okay,” Billy hissed as hot tears slid down his face. “You don’t know me so don’t pretend you do. It was just a stupid letter.”

He shut his mouth, biting down on his tongue and he heard Steve shift behind him and then an aching silence filled the cell for several minutes until Steve finally whispered, “Okay. Yeah. Sorry.”


	10. Chapter 10

By now, Billy was used to waking up to the sound of breathing. He was used to either Hopper’s breathing or silence and when he woke to silence, he immediately started to panic.

Billy woke to the sound of breathing again, but this time the breathing was different. Hopper sounded like a bear when he breathed. It wasn’t very noticeable except in the frightening quiet of the cell. But the Chief, especially when he was still asleep, didn’t snore so much as softly growl. 

This was different. This was something akin to a snore but breathier and with the occasional whimper accompanying it. It was almost musical. Billy’s brow drew down and he grimaced, rolling onto his back and stretching.

It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and saw Steve curled up next to him in a fetal position, his expression soft in sleep, that Billy remembered everything that had happened the day before.

Steve had found him…

They’d talked like old buddies…

Then he’d flipped out and been a complete douchebag to Steve.

_Shit_.

A year ago if Steve had said the things he’d said to Billy’s face, he wouldn’t have gotten a sentence in before Billy would have flipped out and started throwing punches or screaming or storming out. But all that bullshit had been stripped away. He could see now _why_ he’d flipped out. Sort of. He’d had a lot of time to think about that stuff lately. Anyway, he didn’t have an urge to start throwing punches, so that was good.

He sat up and stretched a little before staggering to his feet and stretching some more. For having been beat up, he didn’t feel too bad. He was at least much more motivated to get his powers working with Steve here. 

The lights were bright by the time breakfast arrived through the slot in the door and Steve, if he was awake, hadn’t sat up yet.

“Harrington?” Billy nudged Steve with his foot. He was sitting up against the wall, poking at his morning gruel. “Harrington, up and at em’.”

Steve didn’t startle. He shifted and slowly sat up. It seemed as if he’d been awake for a while. He’d just been lying there. He looked away from Billy and sat against the opposite wall, hugging his knees. His beat up face looked worse, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the time Billy had gone to town on him. It wouldn’t take too long to heal. 

Still it must have hurt like a bitch. 

Though he supposed the both of them were used to having their asses kicked.

“Breakfast,” Billy said, sliding Steve’s tray across the floor.

Steve nodded, still not meeting his eyes. He frowned at the sight of the gruel before taking a hesitant bite and then gagging. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Billy said. “Probably.”

They both ate quietly and Billy was tense, hoping that what he’d said the night before could just be forgotten.

But instead Steve said, “I’m such an idiot.”

Billy pursed his lips. His breakfast tasted like wallpaper paste in his throat and Steve looked as miserable as his remaining gruel. “Not an idiot, Harrington,” Billy muttered. 

“I read your letter and then when I knew you were talking to me from the void, it just seemed like…” He finally looked up at Billy with giant, sad puppy eyes. “Like it meant something. But...I mean you were wasted when you wrote that, right? ‘Course it was bullshit.” He shoved a spoonful of sludge into his mouth and he groaned as he chewed and swallowed. “Just like everything else. Oh my God, that’s disgusting.”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Billy blurted, now the one unable to meet Steve’s gaze. “None of it was. Meant every word. Just...I freaked out. Last night. I mean.”

“Why would you freak out?” Steve said. “I was being nice.”

Billy laughed at that. He thought Steve was joking but he just kept staring at Billy blankly, utterly confused, and without guile.

“Because…” Billy blinked back at him. Why _had_ he freaked out? It made sense in his head somehow but he couldn’t think of a way to put it into words and the very thought of putting it into words was making him freak out again. “Because I just did. I guess. I’m...sorry.”

“Oh...kay. I mean yeah… All the shit you’ve been through. Makes sense.” Steve seemed wary, but he didn’t look miserable anymore so that was something. Billy put his remaining gruel down and Steve nodded at him. “Hey, you better finish that breakfast. I haven’t forgotten what Hop said.”

“Oh man…”

“Not kidding, Hargrove. I’ll nag you to death if you don’t finish. I’ll _sing_!”

“Okay okay!” Billy said, and he smirked as he picked up his bowl. Though he was curious to hear Steve Harrington sing. He had to be better than Hopper. “I’m eating then. Jesus.”

He sounded more annoyed than he was and when Steve wasn’t looking, he smiled softly to himself.

* * *

Billy’s arms quivered and he grit his teeth as he pushed himself off the ground again.

“Don’t...knock yourself out…” He barely managed the words and he glowered at Steve who was on his fifty-first push-up, having expended seemingly no effort at all.

It felt like a punishment for every gym class when he’d mocked Harrington for some lack of prowess (which had hardly existed anyway).

“Me?” Steve said, only panting a little, lowering himself to the ground again. “You’re the one who’s about to pass out.”

“Goddammit,” Billy muttered. 

Still, he couldn’t be too upset. Steve had taken off his heavy canvas tunic to work out, having already completed sets of pull-ups, crunches, and jumping jacks. Steve Harrington had been taking care of himself and the view was fantastic.

He couldn’t say the same for himself. 

Soon enough they’d have to shower and Harrington would see all his ugly scars. Billy wasn’t looking forward to that. He calculated a couple days to the next shower. For once, he was more than happy to remain sticky for as long as possible.

After their workout, Billy got to watch Steve Harrington stretch. His baggy canvas pants hung low on his hip when he stood and stretched his arms over his head, and Billy’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the V of his pelvis, the curve of his back, and his quivering abdominal muscles. He was getting hard and he sat up against the wall, folding his legs to hide his erection.

“Smoke?” Steve said, plopping down next to him when he was done. 

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to practice?” Steve said. Billy hardly understood a word because Steve’s plush lips kept wrapping around that cigarette and Billy could hear the soft smack of them every once in a while. “Like your powers?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, looking away. “Sure. Yeah.” Billy could smell Steve’s body; his sweat and the scent of his skin. His hair stuck up in five directions. It was probably greasy as hell but Billy still wanted to run his fingers through it. 

_He came here for me_, Billy thought. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around that one.   
Steve had been through shit like this before, which meant he also wasn’t stupid about it. He knew how dangerous it was. He knew he could be potentially stuck in the Middle of Fucking Nowhere, USSR for the rest of his life. 

But he had come.

For _Billy_.

“Yeah,” Billy said, a little more sharply this time. He sat up straight, feeling determined. “Let’s do this shit.”

Two hours later, Billy was shaking and nauseated, and felt a whole lot less determined. He was, however, very frustrated. He had only managed to move his tin plate around, making it smack against the wall. But he was having trouble summoning the bursts of power he’d managed before.

Eleven could probably blow the heavy steel door off the cell. He could hardly move his water cup.

“Goddammit!” Billy barked, slapping his hand on the cement floor. “_Goddammit_!”

“It’s okay,” Steve said softly. “I mean you’re making progress, right? You said before you couldn’t make it happen whenever you wanted. Your power seems like it’s getting a lot steadier.”

“Need to be stronger.” Billy sank his head in his hands. “Like Eleven. I should be able to throw you across the room.”

“Try it,” Steve said. He crawled to the middle of the cell and sat criss-cross in front of Billy, resting his hands on his knees. He smiled at Billy, encouraging. You would have thought this was just another day for Steve Harrington. No big deal. 

Billy was starting to think that even having been madly in love with Steve Harrington, he had vastly underestimated the guy at the same time. 

“When you feel better,” Steve said quickly. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Billy narrowed his eyes at that and muttered, “I’m _not_.” He took a deep breath and faced Steve and when their eyes met, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

The way Steve was looking at him…

“I believe in you,” Steve whispered.

* * *

“Still believe in me?” Billy said, sighing and laying down on his back.

It had been three days and he had not managed to throw Steve Harrington across the cell. The guards were also late with the showers. Billy was only grateful, even if he thought both he and Steve were disgusting at this point. That wasn’t even counting the jizz crusted over in Billy’s pants because he jerked off at night when he was sure Steve was asleep.

He felt like a walking cesspool, even if Steve never commented on it.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sure, I do. You’re getting better at it. You got the cup and the plate up at the same time now. You’re getting really good. And you’re not getting as sick after. That’s great!”

“Not good enough,” Billy mumbled. He rubbed his tired eyes. 

He sat against the wall and for once the cool and unforgiving stone was calming against his back. Steve was smoking and Billy’s ears perked up, listening for that little lip smack he liked so much. 

“You don’t have to be so hard on yourself,” Steve said quietly. Billy opened his eyes, frowning, and looked at Steve who was staring down at the floor as smoke spiraled in front of him. “That shadow is gone. Your… your dad isn’t here. You’re not in trouble. You know what I mean?” He looked up at Billy, as serious as Billy had ever seen him. “It’s you versus you. Right? And you’re gonna win. And hell yeah, I still believe in you, Hargrove.” 

He’d _totally_ underestimated Steve Harrington.

“Let me try it again,” Billy said. He hadn’t even intended to say it. He felt a kind of buzz in his bones and Steve lit up, putting his cigarette out on the ground before he moved to sit cross-cross in front of Billy like usual.

He took a deep breath and even now, he felt different, as if a strength that had always been inside him was waiting there just underneath his skin. He had only to wield it.

“Billy,” Steve said. The corner of his mouth turned up and Steve tilted his head. For a second, Billy saw King Steve of Hawkins High appear in front of him. “When we get out of this, I’m going to take you out. Like...a _date_. Dinner and a movie. Fucking lobster, if you want.”

Billy’s mouth watered, not so much at the idea of lobster (although any food that wasn’t gruel sounded like the best food in the world) but at the idea of Steve with his arm around him, looking at him with those knowing King Steve eyes, tugging him over for a kiss, squeezing his thigh through his jeans, or throwing his head back and moaning Billy’s name as Billy wrapped his lips around Steve’s cock…

“Deal,” Billy murmured. “But I’d rather have a steak.”

Steve grinned then. The first time Billy had ever seen Steve smile like that had been his first day at Hawkins High. Steve had been looking at Nancy Wheeler then as if she were the only real person on the earth.

Billy hadn’t even exchanged a word with Steve Harrington yet but in that moment he’d been filled with the desire for Steve to smile at _him_ like that and filled with an equal amount of rage that it would never happen.

But it was happening now.

“I can do this,” Billy whispered.

Billy stared at Steve and felt that power engulfing him from the tips of his toes up through his body to the top of his head. 

“Oh!” He said. He felt it now, as if suddenly discovering a new body part, and he flexed it. He had been using it all along but he was only now more aware of it, hidden inside him. He furrowed his brow and concentrated, flexing that hidden muscle, and Steve went sliding across the floor until he gently hit the opposite wall. 

He didn’t even feel sick.

“Billy!” Steve said. “Holy shit! Do it again! Do it again!”

Billy spent another couple of hours making Steve Harrington slide across the cell and if he had been hard on himself before, he was buoyed now by Steve’s beat up but pleased smile encouraging him.

Steve looked at Billy like he was in awe. 

He wanted to take Billy on a _date._

Billy was trapped in a secret Soviet prison in the middle of nowhere and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this good. But he was desperate too. He had already been driven to get Hopper out if he had to die trying. Not just because he owed it to Hopper but because he owed it to El, who deserved her father. 

Now Steve…

“You’re amazing,” Steve said, after Billy made him float a few inches above the ground. It still wasn’t enough. He needed _power_. He needed to be able to throw the guards over the catwalk or make their guns fly out of their hands. It wasn’t nearly enough.

But he was exhausted, lying on his back to catch his breath, and Steve was looking down at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

“Shut up,” Billy murmured. But his mouth curved up into a smile.

He was smelly and disgusting, but he wondered if he could get away with kissing Steve. He was seriously considering it, imagining sitting up and tugging him forward. Their lips would be chapped and their mouths would taste disgusting. Steve had watched him piss into their gross cell toilet twice today, and that wasn’t exactly sexy. None of this was.

He was thinking about this as he stared up at Steve who was going a bit pink before he cleared his throat and scrambled over to the wall, poking through the hole between the cells packed with crumpled paper, to talk to Hopper. 

“Hey, Chief Hopper!” Steve hissed. “Chief! Billy can make me float!”

“Yeah?” Hopper’s voice came through growly but cheerful enough. “Billy!”

Billy sat up and crawled over to the hole. “Hey, Chief. You alright in there?” He couldn’t see too well through the hole but Hopper seemed slightly pale to him. Then again, they hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. The guards hadn’t taken them out to the yard to smoke lately.

“Just fine, kid,” Hopper said. To Steve he said, “You making him eat? Is he getting enough sleep?”

“I’m totally on his ass,” Steve said proudly.

_If only_, Billy thought.

“Good,” Hopper said. “Keep working on it. I’m thinking about escape plans. When you’re strong enough, we’ll make our play. I’m really proud of you, kid.”

He _tried_ not to react, but at this point Hopper telling him he was proud made Billy feel like he was a little boy again, so thirsty for his dad to just say anything better than that he was a worthless pussy. 

“Real proud,” Hopper said. 

“Um...thanks,” Billy mumbled.

“SHOWEEEAAAAH!” The guard’s shout came echoing down the catwalk outside the cell. The Russian accented “shower” made Billy’s ears perk up. 

_Thank fuck_, he thought, and then immediately remembering he’d have to be bare ass naked in front of Steve with all his gross scars, he grimaced. 

“Hey!” Steve nudged him aside, shoving the crumpled paper and pebbles back into the hole to make it appear smooth just as the door opened. He scrambled back and stilled, as innocent as ever. Billy staggered to his feet, giving nothing away but inwardly, he was becoming more and more impressed with Steve Harrington.

“What’s happening?” Steve said now, following Billy’s lead and getting to his feet. 

“Showers,” Billy said with a nod.

“Oooh!” Steve lit up. “Thank God. I feel disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, chuckling. “You won’t be happy long. The water is freezing.”

* * *

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” Steve’s face was a rictus mask of anguish as he stood under the frigid spray of the shower. 

Billy wasn’t faring any better and he stood as far back as he could on the tiled floor. He had only managed not to scream as he got used to the water. On the other side Hop was slathering his body with the unforgivingly gritty bar soap left for them, casting a wary eye at Steve. Billy couldn’t help but chuckle, ducking his head and turning away. So far, Steve had been far too distracted by the icy torture of the prison showers to notice his scars.

“This sucks!” Steve barked, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as he worked up a lather in his shaking hands and then scrubbed it through his thick mop of hair.

Billy started to say, “You’ll get-”

“I’ll get used to it!” Steve bellowed. “I know! I know!”

Billy clapped a hand to his mouth as he soaped his chest with his other hand. He shut his eyes, breathless with laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Steve whined and yelped and howled and finally he seemed to get somewhat used to the shower. For somebody who hated it so much, he was taking his sweet time, though it was probably because he kept stepping out of the water and grimacing before he stepped back in. Hopper just keep rolling his eyes and shaking his head, but he was already wrapped in a towel and combing his hair while the two of them were still washing themselves.

It was all worth it to be next to a naked Steve anyway, Billy figured.

“Oh…” Steve was staring at him suddenly, and Billy winced. “Jesus…”

“It’s fine,” Billy said gruffly, and he turned away as if that would hide the scars. But he had just as many on his back. 

When he felt Steve’s cold, wet hand on the small of his back, he sucked in a breath. “Do they hurt?” Steve said softly.

“Not anymore,” he murmured.

“They’re...kinda badass,” Steve said. 

Billy raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Steve whose hand stayed there on his skin even as he turned, his fingers sliding around his hips to his chest. They were standing too close for comfort, in Billy’s opinion, and in _cold_ water no less. That wasn’t going to do either of them any favors. He tried to keep his eyes locked on Steve’s. It was hard not to think of how perfect his own body had been before. He’d shown it off as often as possible. And now…

Steve cleared his throat and jerked back. “Anyway…yeah.”

He looked so nervous and Billy smiled to himself as he rinsed off his hair.

Interesting.

* * *

Back in the cell, they’d hardly sat down again before dinner was served and Billy and Steve took their own sweet time as they choked down their cold stew, chatting about nothing in particular. Steve told Billy about all the movies he’d missed and some weird artsy movies his pal Robin had introduced him to which he mostly complained about because some involved reading subtitles.

They smoked and talked and every time the conversation seemed to die out, one of them would think of something and it would blaze up again; a bright fire that kept Billy warm until his eyes were drooping by the time lights out came and the flickering bulbs overhead went dim.

“I’m beat,” Billy muttered, flopping on his back. Even his thin floor mat was a relief. Concentrating so hard on his powers had exhausted him.

This time, he noticed, Steve didn’t lie down facing away from him. Their mats lay right next to each other and Steve turned on his side to face Billy. 

Billy felt he had never properly appreciated brown eyes before Steve Harrington. They seemed unusually bright even in the dark. But it wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t make out Steve’s profile or the softness of his lips. Steve rested a hand on the ground between them. He was staring at Billy.

“Sure you’re tired,” Steve said, his voice husky and low. “Knocked yourself out.”

Billy tried to be inconspicuous when he rested his own hand near Steve’s, though he was careful not to touch. It was enough just to have the thought of it with the way Steve was looking at him.

“You did really good,” Steve whispered. “I was right to come.”

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, Harrington,” Billy whispered back. 

“Yep,” Steve said, laughing softly. Before Billy realized what was happening, Steve was covering Billy’s hand with his and looking at him with those overly bright brown eyes. “Certifiable.”

It was chilly in the cell, even under the thick but rough fabric of their blankets. But Billy felt warm now. Steve’s hand was soft and it was holding his. He might as well have been covering Billy with his whole body.

Billy’s heart threatened to pound right out of his chest but he only murmured, “Lunatic.” 

He was careful not to move his hand as he fell asleep to the rhythm of Steve’s soft puffs of breath.

* * *

The guards were yelling.

Billy didn’t know what they were saying. He heard “up” and then other Russian words he didn’t recognize, but he and Steve jerked awake. In the night he’d ended up cuddled up behind Steve but now they scrambled apart as if caught out at something, and wiped their eyes.

Billy thought he heard the word “feed” and his stomach dropped to the floor.

“What are you doing!” Hopper bellowed from his cell. Billy heard him rattling his cup along the door. “What’re you doing to them! It’s not breakfast! What the hell are you doing? Where’s Sergei!”

_Feed_, a guard said again, as the door opened with an ear piercing screech of metal on metal. He didn’t recognize these guards. 

“What’s happening?” Steve said, standing up against the wall and rubbing his eyes. 

He looked so unconcerned. Stupid maybe, Billy wanted to think. But he knew better.  
Steve had just been through a lot of shit, just as he had. He wasn’t afraid of a couple of humans at this point, even if they did have big guns.

_Feed_.

“That von,” a guard said. 

He was pointing at Steve.

_Feed_.

Hopper was screaming. 

“NO no no no! Take me! It’s fine! Take me! Don’t take the kid! He’s scrawny!”

“Chief!” Billy shouted. He wasn’t sure what he expected Hopper to do from inside his cell. But the chief sounded terrified and it was terrifying Billy. He found himself trying to step between the guards and a confused but increasingly panicked Steve. 

He had a bad feeling.

“DEMOGORGON!” Hopper shouted.

Billy had no idea what that meant but it made Steve’s eyes big. “Oh _shit_! Wait wait wait-”

It was chaos for what amounted to only a few seconds as Billy tried in vain to stop the guards from taking Steve while Hopper screamed his dissent. 

Billy was hardly aware of what he was doing. All he knew was that Steve was in danger.

_Feed._

_Feed…_

“Sons a’ bitches!” Billy bellowed. He threw one of the guards against the wall with his powers and heard Steve’s gasp. In the chaos of the moment, he wasn’t sure the guards actually realized what had just happened.

But if he could just summon his power, he’d kill them all just for daring to _touch_ Steve. 

Then the butt of a gun was smacked him in the temple and he was falling back, dazed and helpless.

And the door was slamming shut again.

Steve was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Somebody had pistol-whipped him, he was pretty sure. His head felt like it was ten times too big. 

Billy lay on his back, chest heaving, and heard Hopper still shouting after the guards as they dragged Steve away.

He had not been thinking clearly. 

_Feed_.

It just sounded wrong.

But now he remembered his conversations with Hopper about the Upside Down and its monsters, all connected to the shadow, or as Hopper had called it: The Mind Flayer. Hopper had said he thought they had one of the monsters here and sometimes they fed it people. He had been sure his time was coming.

_Feed._

Billy closed his eyes and screamed. He didn’t know how long he lay there, screaming. He couldn’t hear the guards with Steve anymore.  
“STEEEEEEEEEVE!”

He felt power rushing through him as he clenched his fists. He heard the pipe they used for pull-ups grinding, the seam where two pipes were attached creaking as it attempted to wrench itself apart. He heard that sound of metal on metal as the door to his cell complained, wanting to open.

All their stuff on the floor, the box of cigarettes, newspapers, mats and blankets, tin cups, and boxes of matches went flying across the cell and smashed into the door. Hopper was shouting at him but Billy couldn’t hear him as he staggered to his feet.

He felt that all too familiar rage inside him, except this one tasted different somehow.

This one tasted...right. 

It wasn’t dark and forced there by his dad whether he’d ever wanted it or not.

This was something else.

They were going to hurt Steve who had come here just for him, who believed in him, and who had read his letter and wanted to take him out on a date and who had and covered Billy’s hand with his…

“STEEEEEEEEEVE!”

Billy clenched his fists, tasting blood because he’d bitten his tongue when he’d been hit. He felt hot tears sliding down his face. He focused all his power and rage and care for Steve into one perfect charge of power and gasped as the door to his cell ripped off its hinges and went flying back, toppling over the catwalk.

Billy wasted no time and staggered to his feet, racing to the door, his head still pounding. Everything felt like a blur, his thoughts in chaos. On instinct, he whipped around to face Hopper’s door and he concentrated again, pulling all his focus and strength and emotion together as he had before. He clenched his fists and his head pounded.

He had trouble doing it without screaming as he stretched out his hands and watched Hop’s door come off its hinges too. They were making a ruckus but guards hadn’t come yet. He heard other prisoners shouting and yelling, riled up. 

Soon enough, the guards would come for them. 

Hopper ran out of his cell and stared at him. He approached him carefully, looking too concerned, stretching out his hand. “Kid, are you-”

“Steve,” Billy said. He was trembling, his eyes wide. His voice sounded strange to his ears; too high and weak sounding. It wasn’t what he felt at all. But he heard his own soft voice say, “They’re taking Steve to-”

“Then we better get him back,” Hopper said, slapping his shoulder. “Hope you got more juice in you.”

He _did_ have more juice in him, he discovered. It was like having suddenly seen an optical illusion. He wasn’t sure how it worked, but he had to keep his eyes on it and pray it didn’t go away. He and Hopper ran down the catwalk and just as they heard guards coming from around the corner behind them, they turned a corner out of sight. Billy followed Hopper, who seemed to know where he was going. 

When a pair of guards appeared at the end of a row of cells, Billy didn’t think, he only glared and stretched out his hand and they flew back, slamming against the wall behind them, immediately knocked out. 

“We’ll take their clothes!” Hopper announced. “Shit, one of em’ Sergei. Too bad for Sergei.”

Billy blew the door off what looked like a regular room, and they dragged the guards into a supply closet, stripping them of their uniforms. Hopper frowned at Billy as he buttoned up his jacket and said, “Your nose…”

Billy wiped his now gushing nose on his prisoner’s tunic and sniffed hard, grimacing at the taste of blood before pulling on the Soviet officer’s jacket and pants and sticking the stiff cap on his head. It helped their disguises that they had showered recently and also that they’d buzzed his hair.

Hopper held out a gun and Billy shook his head, “It’ll just slow me down.”

Hopper nodded. “That’s the spirit, kid.”

* * *

“Wh-where are you taking me?” Steve stuttered, half dragged down a flight of stairs. His own voice echoed around him. The guards said nothing. He resisted, attempting to twist out of their grip, his sneakers squeaking on the metal steps as he kept trying to dig in until he was half on the floor, dragged by his arms, grimacing as his knees banged along each step.

_Torture_, he thought. 

It was the only word in his head and it pulsed. He couldn’t breathe. The bruises on his face were still sore from the last beating. He had hoped they’d be cleared up in a week or so.

He had thought more than once that it sucked Billy wasn’t seeing him at his best and then chided himself for being so ridiculous.

At the moment, he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about the last time he’d been threatened with torture. He was thinking of the bone saw that had made Robin pee in her pants “just a little bit.”

He wasn’t going to tell them anything about Eleven or Will or any of it. He knew that already. It didn’t even seem like something brave and important. It simply wasn’t an option.

But he could make things up, he reasoned.

He just hoped they wouldn’t drug him again. He wasn’t sure he could control what he said if they drugged him.

“C’mon, man,” Steve said, breathless with anxiety. “What do you want?”

They pushed open a heavy door and he squeezed his eyes shut, digging his heels in the floor and helplessly flailing as they shoved at him. One of the guards backhanded him and he grunted, his head dropping. His head rattled and he stared down at the floor as it blurred by while they dragged him further. The corridor seemed to get narrower and narrower.

“Billy,” he whispered, shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

They’d kill him, he reasoned. What did they need him for? He wasn’t important like Hopper or Hargrove.

Finally, they shoved him into a large cell, the wide metal grate shut in his face. The floor had an inch or so of water on it and Steve yelped, his mouth twisting. The floor was red. He wasn’t sure there wasn’t blood in there.

There was a small metal door in the stone wall behind him but it was shut, and he had a terrible feeling.

“What is this!” His shout echoing as the guards watched, stone-faced on the other side of the door. Steve staggered to his feet, splashing in the water, tripping along to follow the guard as he walked to the end of the metal grate wall. “What is this? What-”

The guard said something in English but Steve couldn’t make it out, and then he began to turn a heavy metal wheel at the end of the wall. Steve heard the grinding of metal on metal.

The door behind him was opening.

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was about to happen.

The unmistakable sound of that clicking screech that had haunted his nightmares so many times did not surprise Steve in the least. Slowly, he turned around.

_I’m going to die now_, he thought. He wished he’d had time with Billy. He wished he’d at least had a chance to find out what kissing a boy was like that.

_No_, he thought, _what kissing Billy Hargrove is like._

The demogorgon came slowly crawling out of a dark tunnel in the wall, steam pouring out around him. Steve’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Motherfucker.”

He swallowed and clenched his fists. Behind him, the guards were merely watching.

Steve rubbed his chin as the demogorgon approached. It had been on all fours and he watched the thing slowly get to its feet.

_The petals_, he thought. It was the petals that were the problem. If he could just avoid the petals.

Not that the things weren’t also incredibly strong.

“Okay, asshole,” Steve muttered. He crouched and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

He was going to die. That didn’t mean he couldn’t put up a fight at least.

He heard a ruckus behind him and he tensed as the guards shouted. He heard them run away.

The demogorgon was standing up. 

Steve screamed and leapt forward, diving down to grab at the demogorgon’s legs just as he heard someone yell, “STEVE!”

He managed to at least startle the monster and it went toppling back, screeching and twisting around just as he heard the screech of metal. Steve and the demogorgon rolled over on the floor and he exerted every ounce of strength he had in him to keep the thing’s legs restrained while avoiding its teeth, the sinewy muscle under his hands terrifying. He was going to get murdered in seconds, he knew. The demogorgon grabbed his arm so hard he thought it might sink its fingers right into the bone.

Then suddenly there was gunfire. The monster shrieked and strong arms were pulling him away. 

Everything was a blur. Billy was yanking him away from the monster and he was dressed like one of the guards.

Somehow the door to the cell was on the ground. He got his feet under him and stumbled back with Billy as Hopper continued to fire his gun into the demogorgon’s face. The gun wasn’t killing it, but it was slowing the thing down at least.

“Go go go!” Billy said, shoving him out of the cell before he whipped around and yelled, his face a mask of fury as he reached his hand out and blew the demogorgon back against the wall. Billy whipped his hand out toward the metal grate door and it flew at the demogorgon, trapping him. Steve saw its leg had fallen under the metal door in the wall and he dashed over to the wheel that closed it.. 

The monster’s screams as the door came down on its leg hurt his ears and he winced. 

“RUN!” Hopper said.

The two guards were dead on the ground with shots through their chest, Steve saw as Hopper shoved him down the hall, and Billy followed. 

Steve ran and just as quickly stopped until Billy had caught up, taking his hand. “How did you-”

“I’ll tell you later!” Billy bellowed, a stream of blood oozing from his nose. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“SHHH!” Hopper whipped around, holding up his gun. He crouched behind a corner in the hall and held a finger to his lips before peeking around the corner.

“Harrington,” Billy whispered. “Did you just tackle that thing with your bare hands?”

“Don’t we call that move The Hargrove?” Steve said, smirking.

Billy cracked a smile at that and Steve reached over to wipe the blood from Billy’s nose with the corner of his sleeve. Billy was _looking_ at him a particular way that was making his heart pound and not just from the excitement.

“Go!” Hopper hissed.

Their advantage turned out the be the labyrinthine structure of the prison, which also made it hard to find their way out, but it kept the guards off their backs. A siren wailed as they raced down corridor after corridor. Hopper pushed open a heavy door and they found themselves in some kind of dingy lounge for the guards where there was a ratty couch and a small fridge. 

He spied coats hanging on hooks and grabbed them just before Hopper yanked him back by the collar because men were coming.   
He watched Billy throw three men down the hall with the force of his powers and couldn’t help smiling to himself as he stumbled backwards and followed Hopper, Billy close behind him. 

“Stop right there.”

Brenner’s voice was soft and yet somehow it sounded like thunder to Steve’s mind. Billy stop cold and Steve saw his shoulders tense. He also saw the dark look in Hopper’s eyes and the way his jaw clenched. Brenner stood at the end of a corridor backed up by two armed guards.

“Chief Hopper,” Brenner said. He sounded matter-of-fact. “I know your intentions here are good. But you have no idea how important that boy is-”

“Shut the hell up.” 

Hopper drew his gun and Steve shut his eyes, prepared to die as the guards drew theirs.

“_Stop_,” Brenner said, raising his hand. “Don’t shoot yet. Billy… I know you’re very frightened. We haven’t been fair to you. But I can assure you, I have your best interests at heart here.”

Steve opened one eye and glanced at Billy and the fear in his eyes seemed unexpected somehow. But Steve thought it must be how Billy had always looked at his father.

“No,” Billy whispered. The guards started to fire but their bullets flew far above Steve and Hopper’s heads as they were tossed like toys down the hall, Billy’s mouth a grimace of effort. “I’ll kill you,” Billy muttered, his voice cracking.

“No,” Hopper said. “You won’t.” 

With that, Hopper shot Brenner in the heart and he fell to the ground, eyes wide in surprise, blood a blooming rose on the white of his shirt as Hopper, Steve and Billy strode right past him.

“I could’ve done it,” Billy said, glancing at Hopper.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Hopper said.

They found their exit seconds later.

“This way!” Hop bellowed and pushed open another door. 

The wall of cold air stung like needles, the brutal winter of Kamchatka bracing, but they were _out_ and there was only one guard standing next to an armored truck parked in the heavy snow... Hopper shot at him but he ran away without looking back.

“In the truck,” Hopper said, throwing open the door.

Steve threw coats at Hopper and Billy and he struggled to get his own on, already trembling from the cold. Steve stumbled in the knee-deep snow as he followed Billy around to the passenger side of the truck, the shrill and blaring alarms sounding from the prison made his ears perk up painfully. 

He watched Billy climb up into the truck. He looked so strange in that uniform with that giant, heavy wool coat. He reached down to Steve, holding out his hand.

“Harrington!” Billy said. “C’mon!” 

Steve took his hand and swallowed, a not unpleasant shiver running down his spine. 

Billy ears were already red from the cold, he noted. He could see them under the guard’s cap that he wore. He climbed up into the truck, his own coat bulky over his prison uniform. The keys were in the ignition and Hopper pulled out just as Steve slammed his door shut. He was squeezed in close next to Billy, who had not let go of his hand and he swallowed, letting Billy squeeze it between them. 

“Here we go,” Hopper muttered as they plowed out into the vast emptiness of sprawling white.

* * *

Hopper had taken their truck off the road but none of them were fooled. The tracks of a conspicuously armored vehicle heading away from the prison would not be hard to find. They’d driven blindly until coming across a blank expanse of gray ocean and turned right around. They’d made their way up the peninsula to the mainland. But from there...they were clueless.

And besides that, they needed to be getting _out_ of Russia and Steve couldn’t begin to imagine how they’d manage it. He didn’t even have his backpack anymore.

He wished he’d actually listened to those Russian language tapes now.

“We need the embassy,” Hopper grumbled. “And I need a goddamn cigarette. Christ.”

“Uh...well, where would the embassy be?” Steve said. They’d been driving a while and he was comfy now, nestled in close to Billy. “Moscow, right?”

“Definitely Moscow,” Hopper said. “But that’s days away and God knows which direction we’re going now. Oh _shit_…”

The engine was rattling and only now did they all notice the lack of gas according to the gage. It was in Russian but it was not hard to guess what that red needle meant.

“Well, we need to go south,” Billy said. He’d found a compass in the glovebox and he’d been playing with it. He showed Steve who watched the compass needle spin. It looked friendlier than the gas gage needle. “That way is north where we came from,” Billy said pointing to the right. “Moscow is south. I know that much. Because you said if we went any farther North or East or whatever we’d be in Alaska which I’m sure as shit we can’t swim to.”

“Chief, stop!” Steve shouted and Hopper slammed the breaks, the three of them lurching forward.

They had come to some railroad tracks and a light was blinking as a train crawled through the snow. The train was rolling very slowly but it would have been an ugly wreck and Hopper had almost driven them right into it.

“Came outta nowhere,” he mumbled. “Hey…”

Steve watched the train roll by and looked down at Billy’s compass. “Well...that thing’s going south. And we’re out of gas.”

Billy nodded at Hopper and said, “Hope those workouts helped, old man.”

“Shut the hell up, kid,” Hopper muttered, but there was no malice in his voice as he got out of the truck.

“Chief, _run_!” Steve shouted as he plodded after Billy in the snow a minute later.

“I _am_, dammit!”

Steve’s heart was in his throat. He had seen this in so many movies, it felt like. But up close, the train was so big and so dangerous, its unforgiving wheels looking like they could suck him or Billy under them so easily if they felt like it. They’d crunch his bones, they’d smash his guts into bits, they’d-

“Harrington!” Billy had caught the train, with ease it seemed. He was standing in an open cargo car and leaning out as snow whipped his face, his hand outstretched. “C’mon, pretty boy!”

Steve pushed himself. It was the snow that made it hard but he was an Indiana boy, for God’s sakes. He was already mildly offended that California Billy had caught the train first. But he caught up quickly and reached up and that strong, warm hand was gripping his just as it had in Gym that time…

He pushed off his back foot and climbed up into the train car, his cheeks burning as Billy grinned at him. He had forgotten what a Billy Hargrove grin could look like.

“Now for the old man,” Billy muttered, crouching down again. “Shit…”

Hopper looked pained. He was having trouble catching up. He was way too far back in the snow. 

“Powers?” Steve said hopefully.

“Oh yeah!” Billy said. He blew on his hands and stretched his arm out, frowning with determination.

“WHAT THE HELL!” Hopper yelled and Steve snorted a laugh, watching him float into the air and come rushing forward, his eyes bulging out as he flew towards the open door alongside the rolling train. Steve grabbed Hopper’s hand he stumbled back when Hopper’s feet hit the floor, the momentum sending him crashing together.

Billy wiped his bloody nose on the sleeve of his coat, looking proud of himself. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Shit, it’s freezing,” Steve murmured, wrapping his coat tighter around him as he took stock of their newfound transportation.

The car was mostly empty but for some crates and barrels. Maybe there was food in them? He hoped so, but he was too tired to look and slumped down on the cold floor of the car against the back wall. There was a door at either end and idly, he wondered if they could get into other cars? Billy sat down next to him but Hopper stood at the door as if standing guard, blowing into his hands.

Steve scooted closer to Billy. For warmth, he told himself. 

“You sure this train’s going to Moscow?” Steve said, resting his head on the wall and turning it to look at Billy who seemed rather dazed just now. He’d taken off his guard’s cap and Steve smiled softly.

Billy’s ears really stuck out funny with that short hair.

It was adorable.

“Sure as shit hope so,” Billy muttered. “Or we’re pretty screwed.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, the non-stop terror and excitement of the last couple hours having ended. For now, at least, things were calm. They would be hungry soon and it was cold in the train car. But those were problems for later. 

Left to his thoughts, Steve realized: _What use was I?_

His audacious plan to “rescue” Billy Hargrove had completely failed in the end. Billy had broken himself out _and_ Hopper.

In fact, Steve had been nothing more than a third wheel. It would have been easier for them if they hadn’t had to end up rescuing_ him. _

If anything, Billy should be pissed.

Suddenly feeling like a massive failure (which was hardly a new sensation), Steve got to his feet, wanting to be away from Billy now. He joined Hopper at the door and stared out at the seemingly endless expanse of white blurring by. 

_What a loser_, he thought bitterly. _Why does he even like me_?

He glanced at Hopper who looked grim and serious, his beard already growing in again. He swallowed and managed to say, “I’m… I’m sorry, Hopper. Chief Hopper. I mean.”

Hopper frowned at him and said, “For what, Harrington?”

He always sounded like he was growling, Steve thought. 

“For...getting in the way,” he said, sighing. He glared down at his shoes, his battered sneakers. He was glad the Soviets had at least let him wear his sneakers. Even if they weren’t warm enough and now soaked with snow. “Thought I’d come blazin’ in like a hero and save you two. Because, ya know...I _have_ busted out of a top-secret Soviet facility before. Except I had help then. But I just… Ended up being useless.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hopper said, looking genuinely baffled. “You showed up and three days later Billy was a hundred times more powerful. Listen, I don’t really know what your...relationship is. Didn’t even know you were buddies. But it’s something. Something strong enough that they took you away and he turned into the uh...ya know...that guy... Lou Ferrigno?”

“The Hulk,” Steve supplied.

“Yeah, The Hulk.” Hopper said. “Except telekinetic and all. If you hadn’t shown up, I think eventually we would’ve gotten out. _Maybe_. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a year. Assuming they didn’t kill him before he could get stronger. But you obviously unlocked something in the kid. That was all you. 

So...thanks, Harrington. I was getting sick a’ that goddamn gruel.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Um...you’re welcome then. I guess.”

“Glad you came anyway,” Hopper said. “As _dumb_ as an idea as it was. He needs a friend, that one. Needs a friend as much as he needed a better father than the piece of shit he got handed. It’s good to see somebody comin’ through for him.”

“Think he kinda has a good dad now,” Steve said, nodding at Hopper.

Hopper only sighed at that but Steve didn’t miss the flash of a smile. “Alright, alright. Go make sure he’s okay, would you? This day must’ve taken a lot out of him.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said and spun on his heel, stumbling a little with the movement of the train. He cleared his throat and went to the back of the car again, sitting down close next to Billy. 

He’d never gotten to know Hopper all that well.

He wasn’t so bad really.

“Are you cold?” Steve said. He didn’t think about it before he was wrapping his arm around Billy’s shoulders, squeezing him, rubbing his arm. “Coat warm enough?” 

Billy turned his head and blinked at him, his breath steaming out in a puff that Steve felt on his cold cheeks. They were inches apart and he blinked.

“Yeah,” Billy said, his voice a throaty croak. “Just fuckin’ tired.”

“You can sleep if you want,” Steve said. “Um… If you’re warm like this, I’ll stay right here?”

“Hmm... “ Billy swallowed and said, “Thanks. Steve. For coming after me.”

Steve had thought he was going to die when he’d seen that demogorgon coming for him.

His first thought had been: I never kissed him.

“Um, hold on,” Steve said. “Before you fall asleep-”

“What?” 

Steve glanced down the train car at Hop, still standing in the open door and gazing out at the snow. What Hopper would ultimately think of him and Billy, he didn’t care about so much right now. 

But this moment was only for the two of them, he felt.

He turned back to Billy and wasting no more time, he cupped Billy’s cool cheek in his palm and leaned in, smiling slightly at the intake of breath he heard before their lips met.

The kiss wasn’t mind-blowing. 

Their lips were cold, dry, and badly chapped.

Objectively speaking, as Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s, it was the worst kiss of his life in terms of form, and that included cutting his bottom lip on Suzanne Cleary’s braces in the eighth grade.

But on the other hand, as Billy gripped his arms and squeezed as if this was the greatest moment of his life, Steve felt a big dumb tear brimming in one eye.

It was the best kiss ever. 

Billy’s mouth was soft, even if it was chapped. He tasted awful as Steve was sure he did too. He smelled like that gritty Soviet soap and like snow and some strange slightly chemical smell given off by the wool of their coats. 

But it was Billy, pressing his mouth to his, their lips sliding together and parting and he gasped a little when Billy’s tongue ran along his lip. He broke away and tilted Billy’s head aside a little before nudging his mouth open further and kissing him more properly, searching for a sensation he knew was just there if he could just…

“Hmmm…” 

Steve hummed when Billy’s tongue delved into his mouth. _There_ it was. He was floating. His blood was hot. His cock swelled in his canvas pants. He wanted more _more _and yet he never wanted to stop doing _this_ because even if their lips were chapped and they both tasted gross, it was somehow exactly what he’d been looking for.

“Um…” Billy pulled back, his eyes a little googly. He looked like a cartoon of himself. Steve pictured little cartoon birds and hearts circling his head. “Holy shit.”

“That was…” Steve sighed and he smiled, dazed. He was freezing and he was on a train going who the hell knew where in the middle of the USSR and his stomach was rumbling and he’d almost been eaten by a demogorgon again and… “Worth the trip,” Steve said.


	12. Chapter 12

“I can’t eat it,” Steve said. There was a half-frozen and already half-eaten fish sitting on a clean rag in front of him and Steve stared at it with some amount of horror. “Trust me. I’d eat it if I could. I don’t think I can keep it down.”

Billy frowned and swallowed another bite. It was their second day on the train. Hopper had discovered several barrels of fish on ice and crates full of crackers two train cars down. That meant they wouldn’t starve. The fish had to be thawed at least. They wrapped it up in rags and sat on it for a while. That seemed to do the trick. 

Billy had balked at first, but the fish really wasn’t so bad once you got past the icy, slimy feeling. It didn’t have much taste to it either way. Beyond that, whenever the train stopped, Steve hopped off with the small bucket they’d found and filled it with clean snow for water.

But Steve wouldn’t eat the fish.

The train ride would be days long.

He needed to eat something more than some crackers. The only thing keeping them all from freezing to death was the thick wool of their coats and blessedly, they had found thick gloves in the inside pockets with some other treasures like cigarettes and matches. But they still needed real food...like half-frozen fish.

Hopper all but growled when he said, “Kid, if you don’t eat some of that fish, I will throw you off this train.”

Billy watched Steve take a deep breath and pick up the switchblade they’d found in one of the coats and which they’d used to cut up the fish. He grimaced and looked a little green as he cut out a chunk of pale fish meat and dug it out with his fingers, the fish’s eye glaring at him all the while.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered. He shut his eyes and stuffed the bite in his mouth and looked like he was gagging even as he chewed. 

The lurching rock of the train couldn’t be helping, Billy thought.

But Steve buckled down and forced himself to eat several bites until he shook his head and shoved the fish away. “No more,” he rasped.

“Good,” Hopper said, nodding curtly.

But an hour later, the fish came back up over the side of the train. Billy looked on, worried. “What the hell is he gonna do if he can’t eat?” Billy said. “He handled the prison slop just fine.”

“Probably just a nervous stomach,” Hopper said, though he didn’t look very certain. 

It was afternoon now as the train passed by a sea of modest little houses on a hillside all covered in snow. The crackers Steve had eaten with his fish were coming out too as he stood at the open door of the car and vomited into the chill air outside.

“He’ll be fine,” Hopper said. “I’m sure of it.”

The rest of the day and night was cold and Steve ate nothing but crackers. In the morning, Billy woke up with his arms around Steve. They had all fallen asleep on a pile of burlap sacks for as much cushioning as possible, wrapped up in their coats. Hopper had rolled away in the night toward the back of the car in the night, but Steve and Billy had only become...closer. Steve was trembling and pale as Billy stirred awake and Billy spooned up behind him, hugging him close. He had a dim memory of waking up and feeling Steve’s cheek, finding it too cold.

“You with me, pretty boy?” Billy whispered in his ear.

“Y-yeah,” Steve said. “Just...just cold.”

He had his gloves on and his coat was wrapped up tight, although his prison uniform wasn’t as substantial as what Hopper and Billy worse. Billy pursed his lips and squeezed him tighter. They could switch except then they’d be almost bare ass naked in the chill for a couple minutes and Billy wasn’t sure if it was worth it. Steve didn’t need another shock to his system.

“Just hang on, Steve,” Billy said, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. “You better make it, asshole. You owe me a steak.”

“Hmm...yeah,” Steve murmured. “You and me...and steak.”

Billy’s mouth watered at the thought of both. He found himself flexing, holding onto Steve for dear life.

_I can’t lose him now. Please…_

“Billy, it’s okay,” Steve whispered. “I’ll be fine, just… I’ll get used to the fish. Just gotta get used to it, right?”

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Yeah okay.”

When Hopper started stirring, Billy sat up. He smoked a cigarette and let Steve and Hopper continue to snooze as he got to his feet and went exploring with some vague notion of finding Steve better food even though Hopper had explored as many of the cars as they could get into.

He did however find a sack full of old newspapers.

That gave him an idea.

It was, admittedly, an incredibly stupid idea. And if he didn’t put it in motion quickly, Hopper would stop him before he could try. 

A half-hour later, he had a small fire going on the floor of their train car, their bucket of snow close by in case things got out of hand. A second cigarette hung from Billy’s mouth as he held another small, mostly frozen fish over the fire, speared by the Swiss Army knife. 

The car was getting smoky, but Billy had pushed the door (closed in the night) wide open again so it would eventually billow out. 

“Billy!” Hopper said. He tensed slightly. Hopper sounded _pissed_ and he puffed on his smoke glancing over at him as he moved the fish a little closer to the small flame. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The newspaper had started the fire but Billy had broken up one of the cracker crates to keep it going. 

“I’m cookin’ fish for pretty- for Harrington,” Billy said. “Figure if it’s cooked, he should be able to stomach it.” 

He heard Steve sit up and shuffle over to sit next to him. He was still trembling and it looked like it cost him something just to crawl over to Billy and sit down, but he laughed and said, “H-holy shit. You’re a mad man. You started a fire on a _train_?”

“C’mon,” Billy said, shrugging. “What’s the big deal? We’re a mile away from the locomotive. I got water right here. It’s cool.” He felt Steve practically on top of him as he sat next to him on the floor, rubbing his eyes. 

“Smells pretty good actually,” Steve mumbled.

“Should be pretty well cooked by now,” Billy said. He nodded at Hopper. “We should cook ours too anyway.”

Hopper sat down across from them, regarding Billy warily. “I guess we’re lucky we haven’t gotten some parasite already. Or I hope we haven’t.”

It was tedious work to sit around cooking the fish stuck to the end of the knife while making sure the fire kept blazing but not _too_ much. They also had only one knife. But eventually they were all feasting on decently cooked fish, if a bit charred.

“Charred’s better than raw, right?” Steve said, frowning as he pulled bits of scales from between his lips. “Sure tastes better.”

“Yeah,” Hopper said, shrugging. “It’s Cajun. Blackened.”

At least Steve looked a lot healthier once he’d finished his fish without gagging once. Better, he managed to hold it down. After that, it was just a long day of sitting in the train car for hours and hours with nothing to do but watch the snowy countryside roll by as the train rocked under them. They smoked and talked about movies and what had been going on in Hawkins since Starcourt and if Hopper noticed that Billy and Steve always sat _very_ close together unless they’d gotten up to stretch their legs or piss into the chill wind, he didn’t say anything.

“I am so bored,” Steve said. Late that night as the train rocked them gently, he sat cross-wise, leaning on his hand, his eyes always seeming to stray to Billy whenever Billy looked in his direction.

“Reminds me of the war,” Hopper said under his breath.

Steve perked up that. “What’s that?”

“‘Nam,” Hopper said. “There was a lot more sittin’ around than you’d think. Buncha hot, sweaty guys huddled together in the jungle in a warm rain. Your socks’d wear out. Tore the hell outta my heels. Nothing better than a good pair of socks… I miss my socks. That goddamn Kamchatka wouldn’t spring for em’. That’s the first thing I’m buying when I get home, just like when I got back from ‘Nam. Some nice, comfy socks.”

“Did you see much action?” Billy said.

Hopper stared into the fire but his eyes seemed somewhere else when he said, “Yep.”

Steve cleared his throat and said, “My granddad was in the war. I mean World War Two? My dad got a got a deferment for Vietnam though. A medical deferment.”

“For what?” Hopper said warily.

“I dunno…” Steve chuckled, seeming pleased by Hopper’s obvious disapproval. “Anyway, my granddad, I guess he doesn’t think much of my dad ‘cause he didn’t fight in his war, ya know? And then I...don’t have a war. I guess.”

Hopper barked a laugh at that and said, “Don’t you?”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “Oh...well… I guess kinda.”  
“Not kinda,” Hopper said gruffly. “You’ve been in a war. And this one,” he nodded at Billy, “should have a goddamn Purple Heart by all rights.”

Billy couldn’t think of a response to that, but coming from a guy like Hopper it was enough to knock the wind out of him. 

“Well…” Hopper got to his feet, the last of his smoke still hanging from between his lips. “I guess I’m gonna turn in.” 

Billy nodded and doused the fire just enough to put it out before shoving open the train car door. Steve grabbed the push broom they’d found in a corner and shoved the ashes and the bit of wood left out into the air and they both shivered at the rush of cold before Billy shut the door again. Inside the car at night, it was so dark, Billy could hardly make out Steve’s figure as he heard Hopper shuffling around, humming as he curled up in a little nest of burlap he’d formed for himself in the corner. 

“Guess I’ll hit the hay,” Billy mumbled, warily finding his way to his own bunch of burlap on the opposite end of the car.

But Steve grabbed his arm and in the dark, pulled Billy close. “Wait till he’s asleep,” he whispered in Billy’s ear.

Billy stumbled a little, his balance thrown off as he tried to stay on his feet in the dark while the train rocked under him. But more than that, his heart raced when Steve’s lips brushed his ear. He was standing close and he squeezed Billy’s arm before tugging him gently along to his own pile of burlap sacks near Billy’s. But they didn’t lie down yet. They sat up against the wall and shared one last smoke, the orange glow of their cigarette the only light between them.

On the other side of the car, Hopper was settling down, but in the darkness he seemed a mile away.

“Harrington…” Billy whispered. 

Steve was squished up next to him and Billy heard the soft smack of his lips before he handed the cigarette over, his fingers lingering where they touched Billy’s. 

Billy took a slow drag and felt Steve’s thick hair brushing his cheek as he leaned in and whispered, “What?” He breathed in and Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s ear lobe and then let them slide softly down his neck. Billy’s hand shook as he held the cigarette.

“You drive me crazy,” Billy whispered. “Ya know that?”

“Yeah?” Steve seemed pretty happy about it. “I… I want to be alone with you so bad, Billy. I just… Hey, did I tell you I stole one of your porno mags? I mean like...a _gay_ one?”

“_What_?” Billy hissed, a little too loud and Steve squeezed his knee just as he stubbed the dying cigarette out on the metal floor. 

“_Honcho_,” Steve said. “I um… I went into your room to like… That’s where I read your letter the first time. Kinda to feel like I was near you, I guess? And I found it under the mattress.”

“Jesus,” Billy murmured, but he chuckled. “You fuckin’ snoop.”

Steve leaned in and Billy wasn’t chuckling now as he felt that tongue and those teeth nibbling on his ear, Steve’s lips laying soft little kisses along his throat and he swallowed a helpless moan, tipping his head back.

“I jerked off to it,” Steve breathed. “I didn’t even know I… I mean alright, that’s bullshit. I’d thought about guys before. But this time I was… I thought about _you_. And I came so hard…”

“Steve…_fuck_...”

For a minute they were both quiet, but for the sound of their breathing. Billy was keenly aware of their legs pressed up against each other although their thick coats made it a little less exciting. 

They were both trying to figure out whether Hopper had fallen asleep, Billy knew.

He was far across the train car, behind some stacks of wooden boxes and some barrels full of soap. He’d grumbled about missing the privacy of his cell.

They heard the croak of a snore.

Hopper was _asleep_.

At that bit of confirmation, the dam broke.

“_Billy_,” Steve hissed. He gripped Billy’s coat lapels and brought him close, his mouth covering Billy’s. Billy melted into the kiss and the two of them slid down to the floor, facing each other. 

Billy had become used to the bitter cold of the train car but now his entire body felt too hot as the two of them breathed each other’s air and pawed at each other, pressed close together atop the burlap sacks Steve had laid out to sleep on.

Billy’s cock ached, swelling in his heavy wool trousers. He slid his hands up Steve’s chest, pushing open his coat. His tunic was rough canvas but Billy could feel the muscles beneath it, that chest he’d stared at in every gym shower they’d shared. It led down to pleasing abdominals and a dark happy trail…

“Tell me,” Billy breathed. “Tell me what you were thinking when…”

“God, everything everything,” Steve babbled, his voice soft and a little shaky as he tried to stay quiet. He grabbed at Billy’s shirt, pulling out of the waistband of his trousers and Billy hissed when cold hands touched his skin but he pressed into it and kissed Steve cheek and his throat. “I thought of...you sucking me off…”

“_Yeah_,” Billy whispered. “Shit, I’d make you feel so good… Get that big dick in my mouth, I’d make you see stars, Steve.”

“Shit…” Steve licked his lips and Billy kissed him again, and smirked as he nipped at him. Steve was nervous and it was a turn-on.

Billy had felt like a complete wreck of a _maybe_ human begin since that day he’d crashed into the Brimborn Steelworks and before that he’d been a wreck in general.

He was sure he’d never been this happy though as he fooled around with Steve Harrington on the floor of a freezing cold Soviet train car rolling through the Russian countryside. 

“Billy...” Steve mumbled, and he climbed on top of Billy, his moans muffled as he mouthed along Billy’s throat and rutted against him. It was a little messy and frustrating but then Steve felt the unmistakable girth of Billy through their pants and he bit his lip, wrapping a leg around him. The friction was delicious and terrible. “Billy…._God_... ah…”

Billy felt a stab of fear at the thought of waking Hopper up. If he _knew_… Chief Hopper had said he was proud and he looked at Billy the way his own real dad had never looked at him. He’d said Billy deserved a Purple Heart, and if all that went away…

“Sshhh,” Billy kissed Steve again, quieting. “Shh shh…”

“Sorry,” Steve breathed, and didn’t seem to mind too much. 

“Um...do you wanna…” Billy pressed his hand to Steve’s crotch and he nodded shakily.

“_Yes_…”

There were so many layers of clothes it seemed. Billy felt like Steve was growing new ones somehow until Steve had finally managed to unbutton his pants with trembling fingers. Billy licked his lips and Steve braced himself on his elbows. Billy’s arm was somewhat crushed between them and it was a little awkward, but then he was shoving his hand down into Steve’s underwear, his nails raking through a thatch of rough hair as Steve’s breath quickened.

“Billy,” Steve breathed. “_Please_…”

“Yeah,” Billy said, as if he’d asked a question. He babbled as his hand wrapped around the firm thickness of Steve’s cock. “Whatever you want… Baby, I swear to God, whatever you want,” he whispered.

“Oh...oh _man_...ah…” Steve’s little noises made him smile and murmur more encouragement and all kinds of things that he wouldn’t say if he were thinking straight, but that was impossible now.

“Fuck, Steve, I can’t believe you’re…” Billy’s erection was pressed up against Steve’s thigh and he rutted a little as he stroked Steve who thrust into his hand, staring down at him, his mouth wide open. “Fuck your mouth is so pretty, you’re...you’re so…”

“You-you too,” Steve mumbled, and turned to muffle a moan into Billy’s shoulder. “So _pretty, _so hot..._ah_…”

Billy was impatient just to see what Steve was like when he came and he’d quickened his pace, his wrist working furiously until Steve tensed and jerked and cum spurted out and Billy felt it on his knuckles. The sight of it set him off too and he grunted, helpless, and rolled them over even as he kept milking Steve to the end. Billy rutted against Steve’s leg, some part of him still sober-minded, was a little mortified at the way he was humping Steve like a horny terrier and he clenched his jaw as he came in his heavy, wool pants, his breath puffing into Steve’s ear.

“Whoa,” Steve muttered, and when they’d come back down to earth he shuffled around to lie next to Billy. But he grimaced and sat up, pulling off his coat. “Too hot now…”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Billy whispered, winking at him.

Steve chuckled at that, and ran a hand through his hair, smiling shyly.

_Fuck, I love you_, Billy thought. 

Steve didn’t love him yet, Billy knew. But he had a _shot_, a real shot at it. 

_Worth the trip_, he thought to himself. 

They ended up sleeping side by side, under their coats rather than wearing them because they were still too warm. That night, Billy didn’t sleep for a long time. He was too distracted by what had just happened and also by Steve’s hand that once against covered his own on the floor between them, as if even if they weren’t in each other’s arms, he insisted on holding onto Billy, making sure he was right there with him.

And all Billy could think was: _ I have a real shot. I can’t fuck it up._

* * *

“Hey!” Hop was at his self-assigned “post” at the door to the train car, a smoke hanging from his lips and his beard growing out around it, and he turned to them with bright eyes. “Look lively, boys. We hit Moscow.”

“No shit!” Steve had been nibbling on the last of his “blackened Trout” (they did not know what kind of fish they had been eating but at some point Hopper had decided it was trout which Billy doubted). He scrambled to his feet and joined Hopper at the door. They were rolling toward a sprawling train yard on the outside of a massive looking metropolis though it still looked awfully grim and gray if somehow beautiful in the snow. 

Reflexively, they both stepped back into the shadows as soldiers and workers came into view and eventually the train slowed. Hopper peeked out the door. Billy was stomping out their little fire and glancing around to make sure they had everything (which really just meant cigarettes and matches).

“Okay, go go go…”

They hopped down off the train just before it came to a stop and managed to avoid being seen. But once off, they could pass for soldiers in their coats, although Steve was missing a cap. They stayed huddled together and tried to look like they knew where they were doing as they marched through the snow toward the gates of the yard.

“We got one more problem,” Hopper said, his breath steaming. “Moscow is huge and I got no idea where the embassy is.”

Billy snorted and blew into his hands, squinting as a gust of snow bit at his rosy cheeks. “Shit.”

“Oh, I know where it is,” Steve said. “I looked at some pictures too. Presnensky District. Bolshoy...Devee-ah-tin-skee…”

“Holy shit,” Hopper muttered. “How the hell-”

“I mean you guys got kidnapped, right?” Steve said quietly as Hopper curtly nodded at a group of soldiers at the train yard gate who barely gave them a second glance. “I planned for this. My friend Robin thought of looking up the embassy. We found a picture in some magazine. She made me memorize the address. I’m surprised she didn’t make me tattoo it on my arm.”

“That was bright of her,” Hopper said. “I owe her one when we get back.”

Billy’s ears perked up when Steve talked about Robin. Robin, a girl. Who was his friend. He couldn’t help thinking about it as they made their way through the city, stopping every once in a while to ask, “Presnensky?” to get pointed in the right direction.

After a half hour of this, an old woman all wrapped up in an oversized blue coat spoke rapidly in Russian which was useless to them, but she also pointed up at the sign that was an apparent bus stop. They couldn’t read the sign, of course, but they had to think the woman was pointing them toward the Presnensky District and luckily, their coats had come supplied with a few rubles and kopecks so when the bus came they all hopped on and followed Hopper’s lead as he confidently and wildly overpaid for the bus after getting yelled at for not showing some kind of card (at least that was what it seemed). But since they were soldiers, the driver only grunted and waved them on anyway.

Billy was still a ball of nerves as they sat squished together on a seat near the front of the crowded bus while it rattled through the city. There were _people_ everywhere. It was hard not to think that everyone should be able to tell they were American just by looking at them. He tried to glower and look like a mean soldier and that did seem to be working well enough. The cluster of young mothers with children crowded into seats across from them looked intimidated as they clutched their bags and quieted their children. 

“That’s it!” Steve said, long after Billy had stopped paying enough attention. He was pointing out the window at a massive tan stone building on the corner coming up. In fact this part of Moscow was full of impressively big and well, _Russian_ looking buildings to Billy’s mind. It was hard not to feel like he was in a spy movie except that reality was a lot weirder than a goofy spy movie.

Everyone was staring at Steve who had just spoken English with an American accent.

“Uh..._da_!” Steve said, shrugging. “Uh...Presnensky...Bolshoy...thing...”

Hopper narrowed his eyes at Steve and when the bus made its stop, he muttered, “Shut up and go.”

It took some shoving through a tightly compacted crowd of bodies and nobody smelled great, particularly the three of them, but eventually they tumbled out into the sidewalk right in front of the building Steve had pointed to.

There was an American flag waving in front of it.

Billy had never considered himself a patriotic person in the least but just now he had an urge to make out with it.

The American soldiers guarding the embassy were frowning as the three of them walked up and started speaking Russian, trying to stop them from heading up the steps, until Hopper raised his hands and said, “We’re American.”

“In that get up?” The guard said, raising an eyebrow. He looked just as young as Billy and Steve. He snorted, looking them up and down and straightened his cap. 

“It’s a long story,” Hopper said. “We need to get inside.”

“If you’re American,” the soldier said warily, “where are you from?”

“Hawkins, Indiana,” Hopper and Steve said together.

“Cali...fornia,” Billy cracked. “San Diego.”

“I need to talk to someone at the Department of Energy,” Hopper said in a low voice that promised no patience at all. “And I need to do it now. Get me to a goddamn phone, sargent.” He nodded at the soldier’s pips which seemed to impress the guy.

“You serve?” The guy said, sizing Hopper up. That, Billy thought, was a ballsy move considering he was about one third Hopper’s size.

Something passed between them and Hopper hadn’t said anything yet when the guy’s expression shifted from suspicion to understanding. “Yeah,” Hopper finally said. “And we’re in the shit now. So-”

“Come with me,” the sargent said with a nod. 

Steve and Billy shared a glance and Billy felt Steve tug on his coat sleeve. He didn’t hold Billy’s hand but Steve very deliberately brushed his fingers along Billy’s knuckles as they made their way up a flight of stone steps and through the heavy front doors. 

“Almost there,” Steve said softly.

Once inside, after getting hit by a wall of warm air that had them all quickly taking off their coats, the soldier saluted them and said, “I don’t know what your deal is, but you’re on safe ground now. But whatever you do, do _not_ leave this building.”

They’d hardly taken their coats off before a suit behind a high wooden counter where a long line of people were impatiently waiting came dashing over. 

Hopper turned to Billy and Steve and said, “Find a place to sit. This’ll be a _while_.”

The embassy was nice as the two of them looked around for somewhere to settle. At least by comparison to anything else they’d seen so far, it was nice. Palatial even, to Billy’s mind. It was all shiny dark woods and dark red carpets and marble. Clusters of serious looking people stood around talking about diplomats and politics. There were a bunch of fancy looking chairs along a wall _and_ a sideboard with a giant coffee maker…

“Oh my God,” Steve murmured. “Hot coffee…”

They got a lot of weird looks and Billy only shot glares back as the two of them filled styrofoam cups with coffee and Billy treated himself to more creamer and sugar than he would normally bother with just because he could. They sat down in chairs that were more comfortable than they looked and heaved heavy sighs, their coats in their laps. Hopper was following two of the suits into another room.

God knew how long it would take to straighten this shit out or even if it was possible.

“Do you know what he was talking about?” Billy said. His voice sounded raspy and he winced, taking another long sip of coffee. “About the Department of Energy?”

“I’m guessing he’ll call whoever always shows up when a bunch of monsters come around,” Steve said sleepily. “There’s this one doctor too, I think.”

“Owens?” Billy said.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Billy chuckled at that. Owens had to be pissed his patient had been kidnapped by Soviets. He couldn’t remember his time with the Americans too well following his “death” but he got the sense they had truly been trying to make him better even as they’d studied him. Anyway, it had been nothing like the prison.

“I’m so sick of these clothes,” Steve muttered. His face looked better anyway. His bruises were fading. He rested his head on Billy’s shoulder and it wasn’t too bad, sitting in comfortable chairs, drinking coffee in the embassy as they watched the people go by and quietly made fun of them all over nothing just to have something to do, and then talked about the first things they would eat once they were back home (McDonald’s was a high priority).

It felt something like a date.

* * *

“Billy.” Hopper's voice was gentle. Billy frowned as he woke up. He and Steve were practically cuddling, as much as two guys could while sitting in wooden chairs with armrests. Billy flushed and scooted away, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. But once again, Hopper didn’t seem to notice. “They’re gonna be asking you two some questions in a minute, but I’m getting you some sandwiches first. Nothing _involved_. That’s Owens department. Basic stuff. Address, parents, social security, family history even… This is a whole rigamarole since none of us have our IDs much less passports…”

“Right right,” Billy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Steve was still asleep. Billy glanced over at him as if to make sure he was not only still there but safe and then looked away just as quickly, self-conscious.

Hopper heaved a sigh.

_Shit._

“Can I...talk to you a minute?” Hopper said. “Alone? C’mon, they said we can smoke in here.”

_Shit shit…._

“Okay,” Billy muttered, and got to his feet. Hopper led him over to a sort of standing area near the front doors where people seem to cluster for a smoke without going all the way outside into the snow.

_Here it comes_, Billy thought. Hopper was a decent man. It wasn’t like he would leave him in Russia or something. He would get him and Steve back to the states and then...and then he would never speak to Billy again because he was gay. He would sure as shit take back that comment about deserving a Purple Heart…

“I wish Joyce was here,” Hopper was here. “Not..._here_ here. Just wish I could talk to her before this conversation.”

Billy took the cigarette Hopper offered him and blinked, feeling lost. He leaned against the shiny dark wood wall and didn’t speak, his eyes straying to Steve, still haplessly snoozing under his giant wool coat of a blanket.

“Alright look,” Hopper said, striking a match and lighting up. “I’ve seen the way you look at Harrington over there and I’ve seen the way he looks at you too-”

“Chief-”  


“Just shut up a second, kid, alright?” Hopper took a drag. “I’m trying to say that all the shit I’ve seen...and all the shit you’ve been through and after what you did for my El… You really think I give a shit about _this_? Doesn’t change a damn thing. A couple years ago? Yeah maybe. Can’t say I..._get_ it. Or anything. But you don’t have to worry. Alright?” He punched Billy in the shoulder. “Long as he treats you right. The dumb kid did come all the way to goddamn Russia for ya.”

Billy had no response to that because his throat was tight as he stared at Hopper with wide eyes. All he managed was: “Oh.”

“Did your dad know?” Hopper asked.

Billy looked down at that dark red carpet. He’d used to hear his dad’s voice in his head all the time, a dark echo that constantly reminded him he was wrong and bad and broken. “Yeah.”

Hopper didn’t need any more than that. He just said, “Well, I’m not him. Just uh…” He cleared his throat and waved his cigarette around, looking so mortally uncomfortable that Billy cracked a smile. “For the love of God, be_ careful _out there, okay? I mean with the...ya know. AIDS and...all that...stuff. Seriously.”

Billy groaned at that. “Okay okay, yeah yeah. There’s no reason to… I mean I’ve never, we haven’t-”

“Okay!” Hopper tensed up. “You don’t have to tell me any details. I’m just looking out for you, kid.”

“Right,” Billy said, still burning with embarrassment. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Hey, I will _always_ be looking out for you,” Hopper said seriously. “If you need a place to stay when we get back? You got a place. I need you to know that.”

_Oh_.

Billy couldn’t think of a half-decent response to that, not having anticipated anything like it and he just nodded which Hopper seemed to accept before clapping him on the back. “Okay. Listen, we’re almost out of the woods. It’s just a lot of bureaucracy and phone calls right now. Oh look, there’s our food.”

Billy had not been expecting much but the cold and bland roast beef sandwiches and potato salad that he ended up scarfing down with Steve was the best thing he’d eaten since before the shadow. Once he’d had the thing had been in his head, food had lost his taste. 

Sometimes he could taste bleach on his tongue and it made him gag.

“Mcnuggets,” Steve said with his mouth full. “Mm. Nuggets _and _a Big Mac. And two orders of fries-”

“Shakes,” Billy said. 

“Hell yeah,” Steve said, swallowing. “Ya know, this is kinda like a date.” He batted his eyes at Billy, who clapped a hand to his mouth to avoid food spilling out as he laughed. Damn near everything Steve Harrington did seemed either sexy or adorable, even when he was being a huge dork. Maybe even more so when he was a huge dork. 

“Kinda like a fifth date at this point,” Billy said.

“Yeah?” Steve lit up at that. He’d finished his food. Billy had never seen anyone eat so fast. He was on another cup of coffee now. “I feel like that too. I thought it would feel strange but it’s like… It feels like we’ve been together a long time? I guess because of everything going on. But ya know…” He glanced around and whispered in Billy’s ear. “It’s exciting too. I...really like you. Is what I’m saying.”

Billy’s heart thumped and he focussed on his sandwich but it was hard now with this bit of confirmation. Fooling around on the train was one thing.

But Harrington really liked him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said. “And I’ll take my steak well done.”


	13. Chapter 13

_I didn’t know embassies had showers_, Steve thought. It was about the tenth time he’d thought it in the last day. They had ended up taking two days to straighten things out enough to fly into the states, and then there was the matter of getting a flight. That meant two days of sleeping on the carpeted floor of the embassy but, fortunately...embassies had showers. Just two of them. 

By the time Steve, Billy, and Hopper boarded a military plane headed to D.C., escorted by armed soldiers and riding in an armored truck (American this time), they were all exhausted and sore. But at least they were clean. They had also been given some third-hand clothes to wear that were really just slight variations of the prison uniform. They smelled musty to Steve, who was itching to wearing something “normal” but was grateful to at least be clean.

The military plane was smaller that Steve would have imagined. It was more like a private jet and his seat was comfortable enough next to Billy who fell asleep the moment they took flight, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve watched him, the morning light through the windows softening his pretty face, his eyelashes fanning out on his cheeks. He reached over and touched Billy’s buzzed hair that felt absurdly soft. He hadn’t been able to shave at the embassy and after so many days, his little mustache was growing in.

He was stupidly beautiful in Steve’s estimation.

He found himself smiling like an idiot as he stared down at Billy.

It was 1986.

“Steve.” Hopper appeared, leaning on the airplane seat, glowering down at Steve. The plane only had six rows of comfortable seats and Hopper had taken the row behind them, but now that they could move about the plane he was standing there...glowering. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Um…” Steve frowned at Billy, not wanting to disturb him, but Hopper’s expression brooked no argument. “Sure.” He gently pushed Billy’s head the other way and unbuckled his seatbelt, getting to his feet and grimacing. Everything felt just a little sore and achy. But at least his bruised face was clearing up from the reflection he’d caught in the embassy bathroom’s mirror. 

He joined Hopper back in his row and Hopper offered him a packet of peanuts with an American flag on it. The flight was going to be long and there were two meals, but Steve was not expecting much.

“What’s up?” Steve said, and coughed. Hopper had been gruff if friendly so far, but now he had his Intimidating Hopper face on and it was making Steve nervous.

“I need to talk to you about this Hargrove situation,” Hopper said.

Steve tensed up, gripping the armrests with white knuckles. “What...what situation?” His voice pitched up comically high, his cheeks burning. “What do you mean?”

Hopper rolled his eyes. “Look, I know there’s something between you two-”

“H-Hop, I mean... I mean, _Chief_-”

“For the love of God, Harrington. Shut up a second.”

“Mm.”

Hopper had not had a chance to shave since the prison either and a beard was growing in. It made him look much more frightening and so did the big, puffy black jacket he’d been given in trade for the Soviet soldier’s coat. 

“I’m not..._against _it,” Hopper growled. “Not that it’s my business to begin with. All I want to tell you is, Billy Hargrove has been through a _lot_. He changes when he’s around you. That much is obvious. Lights up like a damn bulb.”

Steve could help grinning at that which Hopper didn’t miss.

“What I’m saying is, you cannot take this lightly.” His brow furrowed. He was looking at Steve like Steve was a perp. “Mike Wheeler is bad enough, but at least he’s a kid. _You_… Jesus, even I know your reputation. King Steve Harrington, the tom cat of Hawkins High-”

“I-I-I...I’m not, I’ve-”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Hopper said, waving a hand. “You fell for Nancy Wheeler, straight and narrow, she broke your heart… I got it. _Why_ do I know that? Hell if I know. I wish I didn’t. I’m just saying, Harrington, if you hurt Billy Hargrove, there will be consequences.”

“Wait…” Steve blinked at him. “You’re really giving me the ‘hurt my boy and I’ll kill you’ speech?”

“Yes,” Hopper said flatly. “And since you’re an adult and not a little shrimp like Mike, I’m feeling pretty good about it. It’s not an empty threat.”

Steve felt one startling jolt of fear, but it immediately dissipated and he found himself smiling softly.

“What’re you so happy about?” Hopper said, looking distinctly like he might kick Steve’s ass whether or not he hurt Billy Hargrove.

“I’m not going to hurt Billy,” Steve said, and looked straight ahead at the seat where Billy slept now. He missed Billy and he was only two feet away from him. Jesus. “I’m not going to break his heart. If anything I’m...going to unbreak his heart. It’s gonna work out, Chief. I don’t know a lot. But I know that. I’m sure of it.” He drew himself up and summed up the same courage that had fought monsters. “And if you ever try to come between us, I’ll be the one kicking your ass, Chief. I’ve fought demogorgons, I can fight you too.”

Hopper gave him the mean eye, but abruptly he cracked a smile and stuck out his hand for Steve to shake. “Deal, kid.”

He squeezed Steve’s hand hard enough that he winced a little but nonetheless, he thought he detected a gleam of respect in Hopper’s eye.

* * *

“What the hell time is it?” Steve rubbed his eyes as the plane began to make its decent. 

He had slept a few hours, but his sleep had been fitful as it was for Billy. The two of them kept having frightening dreams and then waking up to look at each other as if to ensure they had not been imagining it all. 

Eventually, Billy took Steve’s hand. Steve supposed he was too needful of comfort to care what the few feds flying along with them thought. Anyway, they were just a couple of guys in suits and a few soldiers who had hardly spoken to Billy and Steve except to offer them water from canteens. 

So Billy was still gripping Steve’s hand as the plane began to land and Steve squeezed back, groggy from his last short nap.

“With the time difference,” Billy croaked, “probably not even noon yet. I’m guessing.”

“We should be landing 10:17 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, gentleman.” The guy who said it was an officer in uniform though Steve did not know his rank. He regarded them blankly as he stopped by their row of seats and cast them a curt nod. “Welcome back to the U.S.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, and awkwardly and badly offered the officer a salute. The man rolled his eyes just enough to be perceptible and passed them to talk to Hopper.

Billy was laughing at him. “Such a dork.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t mind it,” Billy mumbled, and when Steve looked at him he was smiling fondly.

_I’m gonna unbreak that heart_, Steve thought.

“Do you think we could go straight to a McDonald’s first?” Steve said. “Or drive-thru? We could do drive-thru, right?”

“I want fifty-seven chicken nuggets,” Billy said sleepily.

Steve laughed at him and since no one was looking he ducked his head and kissed Billy’s hair. “Why fifty-seven?”

“I dunno. Sounds like a good number.”

Steve nuzzled Billy’s fuzzy head and took his hand when he felt him tense up. “Hell,” Billy muttered. “I hate the landing part. Feels like crashing.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “We already did our crashing.”

It was a smooth landing after all and Billy was nervous through it, but he clung to Steve and that seemed to help.

They were herded off the plane and if landing in Russia had felt surreal, jogging down the stairs and walking out onto the snowy Washington D.C. airfield didn’t feel much more normal. Although marching inside the airport behind the feds and soldiers and seeing Americans in Levis was a step towards normal, Steve thought.

“Fellas!” Dr. Sam Owens was wearing a giant parka and carrying three duffel bags. He shook all their hands and clapped them on the shoulders, taking a few extra seconds with Billy. The two of them had some quiet exchange that Steve couldn’t hear, but Owens seemed concerned and Billy just kept nodding and mumbling until Owens seemed satisfied.

Finally, Owens said, “Welcome back, stateside. I’m sure you’re all very tired. Jim here says there are no immediate injuries that need to be addressed. In that case, I’ll be taking you onto your hotel. You can relax there today. Tomorrow we’ll be taking you to the DOE for processing. But _my_ plan is to have you on a plane back to Indiana by tomorrow night. In the meantime, I brought you some clothes and sundries.” He distributed the duffels. “I also have some cash for your food. Hotel serves room service, there’s also plenty of places nearby. Sound good?”

They all nodded, a little overwhelmed, and followed Owens through the airport to a secure parking lot where a van waited. Steve was just relieved it was not another armored truck.

On the walk through the airport, during which he and Billy had let go of each other’s hands, he realized that the only time they had not been touching in some way since fooling around on the train was when they showered or pissed. Even now he wanted Billy’s hand in his again as they climbed into the van.

“I got a room for you two boys to share,” Owens said, all business as they rode through the city. He nodded at Hopper. “And you’ll have your own. I trust that’s sufficient.”

Steve covered his mouth to stifle his smile and glanced at Billy who looked equally pleased. Not only could they finally have some real privacy, but they wouldn’t even have to sneak into another room.

“Yeah, that’s great,” Steve mumbled.

Even now, squished together on the bench seat of van, Billy scooted just a little bit closer.

* * *

The hotel was a lot swankier than Steve had expected. The three former prisoners were being treated like visiting royalty, it seemed. Though Steve couldn’t help but be a little alarmed at the armed guards outside their hotel rooms as Owens and a concierge led them to their doors. They looked like Secret Service men; two guys in black suits, their hands clasped in front of them. Even Hopper looked askance at Owens.

“No worries, gentlemen,” Owens said as the concierge unlocked Billy and Steve’s room. “I’m taking every precaution, that’s all. We’ve got every ear out on this and we’re not expecting any pushback from Moscow now that you’re back stateside. Just being careful.”

Steve briefly wondered if the guard would be able to hear them from outside and then realized...he really didn’t care. Worries like that just seemed meaningless now.

The concierge showed them around quickly, pointing out the bathroom and the TV remote and the room service menu as if any of it would be easy to miss. Steve and Billy just nodded along, dropping their duffels on the floor, and when Owens, Hopper, and the concierge finally left, Billy rushed to the door to lock it.

Steve came up behind him and when Billy turned around, Steve clapped his hands to Billy’s cheeks and kissed him deeply. This time though, he did not feel rushed. He felt as if they had all the time in the world.

If he thought about it too much, he was still petrified by the thought of getting “processed” the next day. Owens had done well by them so far, even if he’d let everyone in Hawkins believe that Billy had been dead when he wasn’t. But what if they wanted to keep him again? 

Not that Hopper would just let it happen.

Just now though, Billy’s hot tongue was in his mouth, his arms sliding around Steve’s waist. He was making little moaning sounds that made Steve’s cock twitch. All his thoughts and fears faded away as the two of them kissed and kissed and kissed…

To Steve, kissing Billy was _new_ and different. Yet it was no novelty. Of that he was sure. When he had thought of fooling around with guys before, the taboo part of it was also what made it sexy. But now the taboo meant nothing. In fact, it was annoying as hell that he even had to think about that. While holding Billy was a lot different from holding someone like Nancy with her delicate little limbs and deceptive (so deceptive) fragility, holding Billy felt so _right_. Every time they touched, it shocked Steve how right it felt. And every touch only made him want more and more.

But even more surprising was that Billy, Steve thought, kissed like it was new to him. This confused Steve. Even if Billy wasn’t the least bit interested in girls, Steve had seen him do a good job of acting like he was in the hallways of Hawkins High plenty of times, his tongue down the throat of any girl who glanced in his direction (assuming he happened to be in the mood to show off).

Steve tugged at Billy’s sleeves and led him to the bed where Billy pushed him down onto the thick navy blue coverlet. Steve groaned, not in response to the kissing this time but because the bed seemed impossibly comfortable in comparison to the prison cell, the train car, or the American embassy’s floor. The two of them struggled out of the jackets they’d been given back in Russia to replace the Soviet coats and kicked off their shoes. Billy climbed up on top of Steve and stared down at him, biting his lip and looking, to Steve’s mind, like a meal as delicious as fifty-seven chicken nuggets.

“This bed is really comfy,” Steve mumbled. But it wasn’t what he was thinking. He was thinking he wanted to taste Billy’s cock that night. He’d always wondered what it would be like to suck off a guy to begin with. Billy ground into him and he groaned (this time not because of the bed) and then abruptly clambered off Steve and plopped down beside him. That was for the best anyway. Steve was pretty sure he’d pass out if he didn’t eat soon.  They had all night for fooling around.

“I thought I’d die in Russia,” Billy said, as casually as if he were talking about his socks. “Or I thought I’d be stuck there forever. For a while I wanted to be-”

“Stuck in _Russia_?” Steve said. He rolled to his side and leaned on his hand, looking down at Billy who stared up at the ceiling. But he was smiling, Steve noted. “Why would you _want_ to be stuck in Russia?”

“‘Cause I saw you and Max before you heard me,” Billy said, so quiet that Steve could hardly make him out. “You guys seemed just fine. Let’s face it, Harrington. You were probably better off before you got that letter-”

“No, dumbass!” Steve said, smacking Billy’s shoulder. It was a playful swat but he felt a flash of anger at the very idea Billy proposed. “That letter… You don’t get it, man. It wasn’t just that I read it and I felt like I saw you the way...maybe you wanted somebody to? It was that you like...saw me too. The things you wrote about me?” Steve flushed. It was a little excruciating to bring up, but Billy had seemed to _know_ him in a way that Steve would have thought impossible considering they were never more than civil acquaintances after the fight. 

“Well...I’ve been paying attention,” Billy said, looking a bit bashful.

“Yeah.” They smiled at each other and with a shock, Steve felt like he was about twelve-years-old; a hot and intense rush of desperate yearning that he could hardly contain coming over him. “Um… What’s your favorite movie?”

Billy burst out laughing and kicked Steve’s leg. “My favorite movie? What the hell-”

“I dunno!” Steve babbled, flushing further. “I just...I like to know things about you. Everything. You know?” He was deeply embarrassed suddenly and he groaned, burying his head in Billy’s chest as he collapsed on top of him. “Shut up.”

He had still not known this version of Billy long. He half expected him to make fun or even get really mean, but instead as he shut his eyes and rested is cheek on Billy’s chest, he felt a tentative hand stroking his hair. He felt a shift then. Without looking, he sensed Billy was moved just by him saying he wanted to _know_ him.

“Well...I usually say _Terminator_,” Billy murmured. Steve moved his head to look up at Billy, questioning. “But it’s not…”

“What is it?” Steve whispered. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You can’t tell anybody,” Billy said. “Seriously. I swear to God, Harrington-”

“Tell meeee.”

“_Pete’s Dragon_.”

_Shit_, Steve thought. _That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard_.

Billy clapped a hand to his face and mumbled, “Can’t believe I told you that.”

“I liked that movie,” Steve said softly. He clutched Billy like a teddy bear, throwing a leg over him and Billy shifted down a little, turning his head to kiss him lazily, his fingers tangled in Steve’s hair. “It used to be on TV a lot.”

“Mmm. Yeah,” Billy said. “My mom took me to see it and then… Later when she left and my dad was like...how my dad is? I used to imagine I had a dragon that would come find me. You know? Oh Christ, Harrington, don’t look at me like that.”

“No, it’s just…” Steve kissed him again. Again and again. “I just…”

_I love you_, he wanted to say. The thought was surprising but no less true. It didn’t seem like something Billy might believe yet. But it was on the tip of Steve’s tongue. He wanted to say it so badly he thought he’d choke on it.

_I love you, I love you_…

“I wanna shower,” Billy murmured against his lips. They kissed some more, with no further intent, happy to luxuriate in each other’s mouths. “And eat.”

“Mmm…” Steve felt dizzy with both want and deeper feelings. Food...there was something about food...but what? He forced himself to pull away, but got a little distracted as he rubbed his hand up and down Billy’s tragically clothed chest. “Do you really want McDonald’s? I dunno if-”

“No,” Billy said, chuckling. “I don’t care. Anything’ll be good. There’s a pizza place menu over there…”

“Oh screw that,” Steve said. He sat up and grabbed the room service menu from the nightstand. It looked like any menu from the kind of restaurant Steve’s parents would go to for a special occasion; the items embossed in a fancy gold script on thick ivory paper. “Let’s live it up.”

Billy picked prime rib with potatoes, a wedge salad, and two appetizers on top of it, since the government was footing the bill. He went to take a shower and Steve finally gave in and ordered the same plus an order of shrimp cocktail, his mouth already watering.

He couldn’t help but notice that Billy was taking forever in the shower and, on the verge of serious concern, just as he got up to check on him, the food arrived. Steve stuttered through tipping the attendant a couple bucks, his heart thudding with paranoid worry until he heard the shower shut off and a minute later Billy appeared in a big, fluffy white bathrobe looking significantly more dour than he had before he’d gone in.

“Food’s here,” Steve said brightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

But he didn’t seem okay. For somebody who had eaten nothing but the barely edible gruel and porridge of the prison and then some crappy embassy sandwiches, Billy did not seem overly excited about his prime rib and shrimp cocktail. Steve wanted to ask what was wrong, but Billy could be so touchy and he felt he didn’t have the hang of drawing him out yet. Instead he filled the silence with chatter about Hawkins and what they might do when they returned and what movies were supposed to come out soon that they might see and what would be available to rent until the food was all gone and Billy had not said a word since “yeah” and Steve felt like the precious thing he’d just gained was already slipping.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, sounding shaky to his own ears. Billy didn’t respond and Steve practically bolted to the bathroom, on autopilot.

Steve had read Billy’s letter countless times. He knew logically that what Billy felt for him was more than a passing fancy and even if there had been no letter, his feelings had been so strong they’d made Billy more powerful and that had to mean something.

Still, Steve was prone to worry sometimes. It was a trait that had only intensified since the first time he’d fought a demogorgon. It didn’t make any sense to him that his stupid easy day job or whether or not Robin might be mad at him or what his parents thought of him should have anything to do with having fought monsters and keep him up at night, but so it was. Now the worry was focussed on Billy.

Steve stripped out his clothes and stepped into the hot spray of the shower, shutting his eyes and sighing in relief even as his mind raced.

“You’re a really good guy Steve,” Robin had told him once, while just a little toasted. “You’re really good at imagining how people might feel and then being kind according to whatever it is, you know?”

No, he hadn’t known and then once he’d thought about it, he’d realized that was what he’d done a lot. Even when he’d made a point of not caring back in freshman and sophomore year, he’d always been the one holding Tommy back from going too far with some kid, feeling an inward sting when he saw the pain in somebody’s eyes.

Sometimes he still thought about the pain in Jonathan Byers’ eyes when he’d called his family a disgrace with everything that had been going on with Will. 

But he’d gotten better at putting himself in somebody else’s shoes when it was important.

His ears had _rung_ when Robin had confessed that she liked girls. He hadn’t even thought about his own occasional fantasies about girls with girls. He’d had a reflexive urge to make a crack, but then he saw her eyes and he imagined how scared she must be…

“He’s scared,” he said out loud in the shower. “Duh, Steve.”

Billy was going back home alive and well. Better yet, his father was gone. Even better yet, the guy he’d been so hung up on wanted him too. All good things but…

“He’s so scared,” Steve muttered. He washed his hair and thought about how Billy had been possessed, controlled, forced to hurt people and then half-dead and then kidnapped and taken prisoner…

Billy had admitted that part of him had wanted to _stay_ in Russia as miserable as it was.

Steve chewed on his lip as he soaped himself and tried to think what the appeal of the prison might be.

Well, you didn’t have to decide anything. Sometimes Steve missed that about high school. It was simultaneously harder to be told what to do all the time and also easier. But out in the world there were choices, different relationships, an unknown future. Billy had to face all that stuff, plus he was basically coming back from the dead and how would people look at him?

Steve nodded to himself and rinsed and minutes later he was wrapping a towel around his waist and combing his hair back wit a hotel provided comb in a cup of blue water. 

In their room, Billy was smoking a cigarette by the big window that looked out on snowy D.C., still in his bathrobe.

“You think you know me but you don’t,” Billy said, just as Steve walked up behind him. “You don’t know, you don’t know anything-”

“Billy.” Steve felt rather proud of himself for having been so right. He tugged on Billy’s robe and made him turn around. Billy’s eyes were red and teary. Steve just sighed and took the cigarette from him, taking a quick drag before he put it out in an ashtray on a side table. “You’re freaking out again.”

“I’m not _freaking out_-”

“It’s okay,” Steve said firmly, stepping up close. He met Billy’s gaze. 

_I’m gonna be good at this_, he decided.

“I freak out all the time,” he said, shrugging. “You went through an incredible amount of shit. You’re _not_ over it even a little bit. And it’s scary going back. But don’t push me away. I won’t let you anyway.”

Billy made a choking little noise that sounded to Steve much like a plaintive puppy. He was careful and slow as he wrapped his arms around Billy and saw his eyes slip shut.

Billy melted so quickly, Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. He kissed Billy’s hair, the soft bristle of that buzzed head silky on his lips. “I dunno what to do next,” Billy mumbled. “I dunno how to...I’m not the same, I dunno…”

“You don’t have to worry about all that right now,” Steve whispered. “We’ll figure it out. You got friends. You got me… You’re not alone.” 

“Yeah.”

“You’re not alone now.”

“_Steve_.”

“I know,” Steve murmured and kissed his way down to Billy’s cheek, hearing his breath quicken. He tugged gently on the belt of Billy’s robe, his cock twitching in anticipation even before the loose knot came undone revealing a broad chest marred by scars and Billy’s short, thick cock just beginning to swell.

Billy was practically vibrating, either from nerves or desire or sheer emotion. So Steve took his time, laying featherlight kisses along Billy’s skin beginning with chest and proceeding up his throat until he finally reached his parted lips. “I know, baby…”

Steve just kept saying it because it seemed to be calming Billy but inside, he was a riot. He knew but he didn’t _know_. He didn’t know how things with a boy worked exactly and he was riled up now as Billy pressed closer, his chest heaving. 

Steve nudged Billy’s mouth open and their tongues curled together and Billy let Steve push the robe off his shoulders. He bit his lip, his eyes wide, and tentatively he pulled Steve’s towel and it dropped to the floor, joining a growing heap of terry cloth. Somewhere around the time Billy’s hands slid from Steve’s shoulders to the planes of his chest in a much gentler manner than Steve would have ever expected of Billy Hargrove, Steve moaned and a rush of nerves overcame him. They were too chaotic to put a name to. His legs started to give out, as if dependent on his brain consciously telling him to stand, and Billy gripped his arms as he started to fall, keeping him upright.

“_Hey_. Jesus. Are _you_ okay?” Billy said.

“Um…” He swallowed, mortified, and Billy nudged him along toward the bed. 

_I’m naked and Billy is naked and we’re both naked…_

He was dizzy. “I’m nervous,” he said, hardly able to form the words. He sat down on the bed and Billy stepped between his knees, smiling down at him. Steve pressed his palms to Billy’s chest, his eyes large at the sight of all that naked skin and muscle and Billy in front of him. He slid a hand over Billy’s heart and tears welled in his eyes when he felt it beat under his fingers.

“Gotta secret, pretty boy,” Billy whispered. He leaned over and Steve trembled when Billy’s lips brushed his ear. “I’m nervous too.”

“I mean, but you’ve been with guys before?” Steve said, not completely certain. They hadn’t really had that conversation. “And girls…”

Billy snorted and that and only said, “They weren’t _you_.”

_Fuck._

The train had been easy. They’d been overcome by hormones and the close proximity and the feeling that they had to be fast and quiet in the dark because Hopper was right there. But now the lights were on and they had time and a room to themselves. It was just the two of them and Steve couldn’t untangle the chaos of how wonderful and terrifying that was.

Billy’s cock was swelling right in front of him and Steve marveled at it, his hands sliding down to stroke it lazily and Billy moaned, his lips brushing along Steve’s cheek and his hands clutching at his shoulders. Billy’s cock was firm and just a little slippery as Steve wrapped his fingers and around it. Billy thrust into his palm, his fingers digging into Steve’s back as he lurched over a little, making pretty sounds to Steve’s ears.

Steve felt a sense of overwhelming impatience, wanting to do anything there was to do and not knowing where to start even as he reveled in the sensation of Billy in his hand, the vibration of his voice as he moaned. “Steve… Christ…”

“Lay down,” Steve said. He sounded both too loud and too scared to his own ears but when he looked up at Billy he saw his own feelings in the too bright blue eyes looking back at him. Billy nodded, his head jerking comically as Steve let go. Billy stepped around him and lay back on the bed and Steve moved to sit at the foot of it, turning to get an eye full. Billy’s lips were slick and parted and he seemed not to know what to do with his hands. He raised them over his head and gripped his pillows. He seemed a little self-conscious. Maybe because of his scars, Steve thought. But he was still laying himself bare for Steve.

Steve bit his lip knelt on the bed. Steve swallowed, licking his lips, his gaze following the jagged circles of Billy’s scars that marred his still fairly muscular chest. 

“God,” Steve breathed. “I… I love...I…”

He crawled up to hover over Billy and ducked his head and they kissed. Billy’s mouth felt impossibly hot and wet and Steve let him go with a wet smack, wincing a little as if in pain when he looked in Billy’s eyes and saw him so trusting and open. “I’ll be careful,” he murmured, and wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about. Everything, he supposed. “Don’t...don’t worry…”

“I know, I know,” Billy mumbled. He moved his hands from the pillows to push back Steve’s hair and tenderly caress his face, looking up at him like he was the only sun in the sky.

That Billy Hargrove, finally naked in bed with Steve, seemed fixated on something so innocent as touching his hair and his face put a lump in Steve’s throat.

_I’ll be so so careful with you_, he thought. He turned his head and kissed Billy’s palm, feeling a measure of resolve.

He kissed Billy’s chin and the corner of his jaw. He took his time to work his way down Billy’s throat, the slight hint of beard stubble satisfying on his lips that he’d slathered with Vaseline to soothe the chapping. They were soft enough now to appreciate Billy’s skin, to hopefully feel good as the brushed along his collarbone and press at the hard ridge of the scar in the center of his chest. Steve’s cock brushed Billy’s thigh and just that sensation made him whimper. He slipped a little, his knee going out from under him, and fell on top of Billy. He nuzzled Billy’s chest, sliding his hands down his sides and felt the rumble of Billy chuckling, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging gently.

“If this was all a dream,” Billy murmured, “and I was in some lab back in Russia getting dissected… It would still be worth it. You like this.”

Steve about choked on that and looked up sharply at Billy. “It’s real.”

He had so much more to say, it seemed, but he couldn’t think of any of it now. Instead he kissed his way down Billy’s body, getting distracted for a while by Billy’s nipples. He found that if he bit them gently, Billy writhed and bucked and pulled his hair just enough that Steve discovered he liked his hair getting pulled. No girl had ever tried it.

Steve wasn’t apprehensive about putting Billy’s cock in his mouth. In fact, as he licked and sucked at the fleshy insides of Billy’s warm, freckled thighs, his mouth was watering, his fingers digging into muscle a little more firmly every time Billy whimpered or bucked up against him. He was less nervous now and smirked into his skin.

Anyway, plenty of girls had given him blowjobs and more than one had smiled while they did it.

“Steve,” Billy said, panting his name. Steve was half off the bed now and his bare, painfully erect cock was right up against the edge as he finally licked at the head of Billy’s penis. He groaned as he slipped it into his mouth, grinding himself into the mattress and moaning around Billy’s thickness.

It was a lot more satisfying and pleasurable than he’d imagined and he’d imagined he would like it.

Billy was fairly thick, but he wasn’t big enough for Steve to choke. He felt dazed and a little out of his mind as he slid his hands up to clutch Billy’s hips, taking him all the way to the back of his throat, Billy’s dark blonde pubes tickling his nose. 

Billy sputtered, babbling incoherent attempts at obscenities and when he bucked up into Steve’s mouth, Steve coughed and drooled. He sucked his cheeks in and Billy whined. When he pulled hard on Steve’s hair, Steve thought he was going to come for a moment and shook, raising his teary eyes to meet Billy’s. Billy’s eyes were wide and dilated, his mouth wide open, his face red.

_I love you_, Steve thought, feeling wild and out of it and almost sick with every too big feeling rushing through him. He sucked and licked with no real strategy, but soon enough Billy was arching, practically levitating off the bed as he threw his head back and came, cum filling Steve’s mouth and rushing down his throat before he knew what was happening. The salty cum wasn’t bad. Steve choked a little, his eyes tearing, but he composed himself and swallowed it down as Billy shook through his orgasm.

He had hardly caught his breath and was trembling with how hard he wanted to come himself, his mind a riot of wanting and wanting and not knowing precisely what. But Billy hard hardly come down before he was moving, crawling down the bed and rolling Steve over, his ass in the air as he bent to take the long girth of Steve’s cock down his throat like he’d been born to do it.

Steve knew he was big. He’d been in enough gym showers and been gaped at by enough nervous high school girls to know it, so he was a little shocked at how Billy took him in his mouth so easily. And when he looked up at Steve with blown out eyes that looked as adoring as they were desirous, Steve yelled and fisted the coverlet as every bit seemed to burst out of him uncontained. He saw stars and made embarrassing little yelping noises and Billy hung on, slurping and sucking until Steve squirmed and muttered for him to stop, breathless and dizzy.

“Hey.” A couple of minutes later they were both lying side by side on the bed, still catch their breath. Steve scooted up and opened his arms, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Billy chuckled. “We gonna cuddle now, huh?” His voice was hoarse.

Steve liked that he’d done that to him. He nodded. “Yeah. Come here.”

Billy didn’t argue but he looked sheepish even he snuggled up Steve who tugged on his leg until he threw it over Steve’s body and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Um…” Steve kissed Billy’s temple and that blonde fuzz he was so fond of now. “Which way do you like it? I mean if we ever… you know…?”

“Pitchin’ or catchin’?” Billy said, smiling into Steve’s chest. “Well...I’ve wanted your dick in my ass since the first moment I ever saw you. Might split me in half with that anaconda, but what a way to go.”

“I’ll be careful,” Steve found himself saying again. “I’ll be real careful.”

“Yeah… I know.”

Somehow they seemed to know that they weren’t just talking about sex.

But Steve was careful, even later when he held his and Billy’s cocks in his hands and kissed him before they fell asleep in each other’s arms and after sleepily making out so long they started to chap their lips again.

And he was careful to whisper when he woke up later and smiled, remembering where they were and what they’d done and realizing that Billy was still hugging him like a teddy bear. 

“I love you,” he said. “You won’t believe it yet but I’ll make you believe it. I swear I do. I love you, Billy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS. I REALLY APPRECIATE THEM. If you don't know, I'm also Flippyspoon on tumblr and I have a Harringrove Discord (18+ only) FYI open to all.


	14. Chapter 14

It was dark and he was alone.

_Please don’t make me hurt him._

Nothing made sense. The shadow was in his head again and everything was pain. Steve Harrington was standing in the sun smiling at him while the shadow demanded more flesh.

Please please don’t make me hurt him…

Billy woke up screaming.

“No no no no!” He kicked and flailed in the dark, consciousness still creeping up on him.

“It’s okay,” that soft voice said. “Billy, Billy… Baby, it’s okay. It was a dream…”

A light came on and Billy blinked. He was not in his sell or in the infirmary or in any lab. He was in bed with Steve who was becoming clear as his eyes adjusted to the light. Steve cupped Billy’s cheek, his eyes wide and worried. 

“Nightmare, that’s all,” Steve whispered. “You’re safe, okay?”

“Jesus,” Billy murmured. He breathed and leaned his forehead against Steve’s, willing his heart to stop racing, his hands to stop shaking. “It had me again. It wanted me to hurt you, it wanted me to kill you…”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing his bare shoulder. “I’m sorry…” When Billy seemed calmer, Steve said, “Did you remember that bat with the nails?”

The sun was coming up outside, the room filling with the soft blue of a winter morning.

“‘Course I remember it,” Billy rasped. “Max almost took my balls off with the thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, chuckling. “That’s the one. I used to sleep with it.”

Billy sat back a little and frowned at him, trying to compute. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked at Steve. “Sleep with it?”

“I got to where I thought there were monsters coming when I was alone in the house,” Steve said. He sat back and Billy relaxed, leaning up against him. Steve wrapped an arm around him and Billy turned his head, his eyes heavy as he breathed in Steve’s scent. “I had nightmares and I’d...I’d get all weird, like panicked. So I’d sleep with the bat sometimes.” He leaned away and took Billy hand, pressing it to his own shoulder. “Feel right here? Scratched my shoulder up with it in my sleep. What a dumbass.” He chuckled to himself as if it were nothing. “Could’ve taken my own eye out.”

“Christ, Harrington.”

“Haven’t told anyone that.”

“I won’t tell anybody.”

“Just saying,” Steve said, “you’re not the only basketcase, right? We all got shit. Some more than others. Ya know, when we get back, you should talk to Will Byers. Probably have a lot in common.”

“When I get back,” Billy mumbled. “Man… I don’t even know what happens when I get back.”

“Told ya,” Steve said, kissing his hair. “We go out on a real date and I buy you a steak. Don’t worry about the rest. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah…” Billy allowed himself to relax. It was almost hard not to while cuddled up to Steve.

“Hey, did I tell you your pops gave me the ‘don’t you hurt my boy’ speech?” Steve said.

For one confused and terrifying moment, Billy thought that Neil had gotten to Steve and he sputtered, “My-my-”

“Sorry sorry, I mean Hopper,” Steve said, and stroked his hair to calm him. “As good as your pops, right? Sure acts like it. Gave me the stink eye and everything.”

“He did?” Billy snorted at that, feeling a bit indignant.

“He was just looking out for you,” Steve said. “Being all protective.”

“Of _me_?” Billy muttered.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Better get used to it.”

Billy didn’t think he would ever get used to that or to the early morning he spent with Steve in their swanky hotel room as snow fell outside. Neither of them could get back to sleep and it was just as well. Instead they brushed their teeth and hurried back into the bed to fool around and make out and wait for room service to open back up at seven so they could order breakfast.

When he thought about it for more than two seconds, Billy was still on edge about whatever it was Owens was going to ask him or do to him that afternoon. But he told himself that Hopper didn’t seem too worried and he trusted Hopper.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Steve said, picking up the phone later just as the digital clock on the nightstand blinked 7:00. “I’m gonna get French toast and a giant plate of bacon.”

“Eggs,” Billy murmured, collapsing on top of Steve and kissing a trail up his lean chest. “Sausage…” He smiled into Steve’s skin, listening to him whimper softly, and raked his teeth across a nipple. “Pancakes.”

“Mmm.”

“And your dick,” Billy said, grinning up at him.

Steve laughed at that and scratched at Billy’s scalp and Billy shivered, feeling the vibration of his laughter shake Steve’s body. He rested his head on Steve’s chest and closed his eyes, the rumble of it and the warmth of Steve’s skin a kind of comfort he’d never felt before.

_This_, he thought, _I’ll never get used to. But I’ll take it_.

* * *

“Can we go to McDonald’s after?” Steve piped up from the backseat of Dr. Owens’ government-issue station wagon. He was crowded in the back between Billy, and Hopper who raised an eyebrow at him.

“You boys are obsessed with McDonald’s,” Hopper grumbled. “All you two ever talk about.”

“Maybe on the way to the airport,” Owens said, catching Steve’s glance in the rearview from his seat in front next to the G.I. driver. “But I can’t promise anything.”

“Chief,” Steve said, “isn’t there anything you can’t wait to eat or do when you get back?”

“Just want to see El,” Hopper murmured, staring down at his hands. “And Joyce.”

Steve just stared at him and Billy watched Hopper cave, smirking to himself. “Eggos,” Hopper finally said, rolling his eyes. “With strawberries. And whipped cream.”

“Eggos,” Steve said, chuckling. “Alright.”

“Yeah. But I could definitely go for a Quarter Pounder about now.”

“Check,” Steve said. “We go to McDonald’s and score you a Happy Meal.”

Hopper narrowed his eyes so hard that Billy snorted a laugh. “Don’t push it, Harrington.”

“Um, Chief?” Steve’s voice was different suddenly. He sounded so serious that Billy frowned, looking sharply at him. “Are you sure,” Steve whispered, “about this guy?” He nodded up at Owens. “This processing stuff. I just-”

“I trust him,” Hopper said simply.

Steve said, “Because if anything happens to Billy-”

“Harrington, we are all too aware of how willing you are to throw yourself into mortal danger with no real plan for people you care about,” Hopper said. “Besides, I’ll be right there with you.”

“You guys know I have super powers, right?” Billy said under his breath, but the thought still made him feel pretty good.

* * *

Owens took the three of them to a beige and very nondescript building. It looks like the kind of place you’d get your taxes done, not somewhere men in black would ask you about interdimensional monsters. But the driver took them to a gate around the back where there was a hushed conversation and Owens flashed some ID. They were waved through and parked deep in a structure and then led through maze-like hallways that echoed and didn’t make Billy any less nervous for all their emptiness. But he saw no guns and nobody was cuffed and that made him feel slightly better.

It seemed like an arbitrary point in the middle of a wide and well lit corridor when Owens finally said, “Alright. I need to go in there with Billy first.” He nodded to a heavy steel door. “You two will be speaking to my colleagues. We’ll reconvene soon.”

“No,” Steve said, so sharply that hairs rose on the back of Billy’s neck. “I’m not splitting up from Billy. Where he goes, I go.”

Billy smirked and stared down at his hands. But Owens had always treated him more like a patient than a lab rat from what he could vaguely recall. He glanced at Hopper who only seemed amused by Steve and said, “S’okay, Harrington. Seriously. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like it,” Steve muttered.

Billy winked at him. “Roll with it. I’ll make it up to you later-”

Hopper cleared his throat conspicuously and Steve said, “Alright, alright.”

“I’ll get him back to ya as soon as possible,” Owens said, nodding to Steve. “Billy, if you’ll follow me?”

Billy could practically feel Steve’s eyes glued to his back as he followed Owens through the steel door and it was satisfying in a way he couldn’t put into words even in his head that Steve cared so deeply even this soon. It was strange to be following Owens down another hallway and through another door, his steps echoing on ugly lime linoleum and everything tinted faintly green by the fluorescent lighting when inside he was losing his mind because it almost felt like Steve really _loved_ him.

Owens took Billy to a room that looked more like a lounge than the lab setting he had been expecting. He frowned, looking around for microscopes or chairs with restraints or vials ready to be filled with his blood, but there was only a beat up green couch, a table, a couple of chairs, and a fridge next to a counter where a coffee maker was still percolating.

“Have a seat,” Owens said, motioning to the couch. He went to the counter and poured himself a styrofoam cup of coffee. “Boy, I’m beat. Sorry, kid. I’m sure that sounds ridiculous coming from me after what you’ve been through. I haven’t slept in a few days is all with this stuff going on. You want coffee? Also got soft drinks in this fridge? Coke? Ice water?”

Billy blinked at Owens and tentatively as if it might bite his ass, he sat on the couch. “Coke.”

Owens took a can of Coke from the fridge and handed it to Billy with a friendly smile. “Original only. None of that New Coke bullshit around here.”

Billy took the Coke and sat forward on the couch, on alert. His father had given him the habit of being hyper aware of his surroundings when he was the least bit on edge. This room had only one door, for example, and Owens was blocking it. His chair squealed on the hard floor as he brought it over and Billy’s ears perked up.

But Owens was alright, he reminded himself.

He was pretty sure.

“Billy, here’s what’s going to happen,” Owens said quietly. He took a sip of his coffee, steadily meeting Billy’s intense gaze. “We’re going to sit here for about an hour. I’m not going to ask you any questions. I’m not going to poke you or prod you. None of that. After I’ve dropped you three off at the airport, I’m going to write in my report that you’re fully recovered from the events of January 1985. Everything that happened in Russia is just Cold War shenanigans. We have intel anyway. They don’t know anything about you or Hopper that we don’t.”

Billy wasn’t sure that was true. Owens couldn’t know he had powers now because he hadn’t even known when he was in American custody. 

His face must’ve given him away because Owens narrowed his eyes and said slowly, “Listen to me. There’s _nothing_ about you that we need to know. Other than that you’re recovered. I do want to offer you assistance though. If I can convince you to take it. Counseling, I mean. If you’re not comfortable with it coming from me, I can get you a reference with the proper security clearance. This would be in Hawkins. We can come to you. These kind of events can have an intense psychological effect. I saw that well enough with Will Byers. Would that be alright?”

Billy chewed his lip and thought of Steve looking at him with worried eyes and saying, _You’re not okay_.

It wasn’t exactly an easy thing for a guy like him to cop to and it probably helped that he’d been around Hopper for a while and not his father.

But this thing with Steve was too important. He wanted to be okay for Steve.

And then there was Max and then there was Hopper. There was even El…

He nodded once and Owens brightened. “Excellent. We’ll work out the details once you’re back in Hawkins. There’s just one more thing. I want to keep you as under the radar as I can. That would be a lot easier with a different last name.”

“I have to change my name?” Billy said.

“It’s mostly just for paperwork on the federal end,” Owens said. “That’s where the hiding is really happening. Out in the real world? No one will be looking for you. It’s a formality. Sorry about it.”

“No, um…” He scratched his chin. He kind of liked the idea of not being a Hargrove anymore. “What am I changing it to?”

“That’s up to you,” Owens said, shrugging. “Thought I’d give you the choice.”

Billy nodded and he smiled to himself when he thought of the only possible option. “Hopper,” he said softly. “William Hopper.”

“You too huh?” Owens looked utterly unsurprised if amused, and Billy realized he was also talking about El.

El, who was another sister now.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Me too.”

“Consider it done then,” Owen said simply.

“So...what happens now?” Billy said. “If you’re not going to ask me anything and we’re just sitting here doing nothing?”

“Ah…” Owens looked at his watch and pointed up to a small TV mounted in the corner. “Well, the playoffs are on. How about that?”

For the next fifty-five minutes, Billy and Dr. Owens watched the New England Patriots play the Los Angeles Raiders who eventually lost.

That was the worst thing that happened all day.

* * *

“I’m never eating another McNugget again,” Billy said. It had been nearly three hours and their plane was about to land in Indianapolis and Billy still felt fit to burst. He had not eaten fifty-seven Chicken McNuggets but he thought he might as well have for how full he was as he sat leaning up against Steve in the window seat, watching Indianapolis slowly get closer.

“You say that now,” Steve said, chuckling. 

Billy had been equal parts astounded and impressed by Steve’s appetite, having watched him put away two orders of McNuggets, a cheese burger, two large fries, and two chocolate milkshakes, forced to finally leave even as he’d longingly eyed the Big Macs.

_Insatiable_, Billy thought. It was a nice idea. 

Now they were well fed and a little sleepy. Billy supposed he was going back to his own house and Steve to his, but they hadn’t discussed it. Steve’s parents had gone to visit his aunt in Cleveland just before he’d taken off to Paris.

They had no idea he’d even been gone.

Meanwhile, Owens had called Joyce to fill her in. They were supposed to be met at the airport gate.

Billy found himself full of nerves to be returning back to life in Hawkins.

Whatever that meant.

Steve squeezed his knee as the plane landed and they both glanced at each other as if searching for strength. 

For Billy’s part, he found it.

“You ready, boys?” Hopper said a few minutes later, from his seat behind them just as the seatbelt light flashed and the click and clang of buckles coming undone sounded.

Billy and Steve had no luggage, not bothering to keep the bare necessities Owens had given them. They were all wearing bright blue sweatshirts and sweatpants that said “I love D.C.” He felt like a complete dork, but at least he was warm as they followed Hopper down the long tunnel from the plane to the gate as the snow and wind roared outside. Steve glanced at him and squeezed his hand and he found his shoulders dropping.

Billy didn’t see who all was waiting for them or the expression on Hopper’s face when he saw El and Mrs. Byers. That was because the second they rounded a corner and walked out into the bustling gate, he heard Max shout, “Billy!”

A blur of red hair came rushing at him at him and suddenly Max was jumping into his arms.

To say he had not expected this kind of welcome was an understatement and he was lucky he didn’t fall over for how she latched onto him. 

Those troublesome hot tears were up behind his eyes again and he blinked at Steve over Max’s shoulder.

He was beaming happily as Dustin and Robin ran over to give him a hug.

“I’m...I’m really glad you’re not dead,” Max whispered. “Shocking, huh?”

Billy huffed a laugh and said, “Yeah...I guess I’m pretty jazzed too.”

He hadn’t always been happy about it, but now he looked in another direction and saw Hopper smiling over at him, and El who was wiping her eyes as she grinned from ear to ear.

El nodded at him and he nodded back and that was apparently all they needed to say.

_William Hopper_, he thought. It sounded pretty good.

“C’mon,” Steve said, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go home already.”

* * *

“Uh...thanks but I can’t eat anymore.” Billy sat back and winced, feeling fit to burst.

He had already been full of nuggets but when Susan with her hopeful and kind smile and presented him with a dinner of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes because he’d always seemed to like that, he couldn’t say no. Not when the house already felt different without his father in it. All his stuff was gone and the place had a distinctly more feminine feeling to it that felt strange but not terrible in comparison.

Susan had been told certain things, but Billy was sure she had no idea he had super powers or had ever been to Russia. He was fuzzy on the details of the lie, but whatever it was, it had Susan being almost certifiably nice to him.

Billy suspected she was feeling a little guilty about the past, though she had always cowered before his father. He couldn’t totally blame her for what had already existed between him and his father.

“It’s um...good chocolate mousse though.” He smiled uncertainly, nodding at the half-empty bowl. 

“Your room’s all made up too,” Susan said, folding her hands on the table. “I bought you some new things? I hope that’s okay. Max and I thought you deserved some new things?”

Between them, Max was licking her spoon, practically vibrating in her seat as she looked back and forth between them.

He hadn’t looked in his room yet. A year ago he would have been enraged at the thought of them changing his room or touching his things without his permission. Now he was sort of touched and anyway all that rage was gone until somebody he loved was hurt which was, he supposed, how things were supposed to be.

“Thanks,” he murmured instead.

They had done all his laundry and also bought him some new clothes too. He had the distinct feeling that news of his resurrection had inspired some kind of shopping spree and Max had told him that everyone had been restless and tense once Steve had run off to Moscow.

That evening, Billy watched some TV with Max and Susan but mostly they talked about this and that. Billy was on edge. He missed Steve already. Harrington had gone off with Robin and the Henderson kid and eventually he’d gone home, Billy supposed.

Billy had not seen Steve in two hours and already felt like his leg had been misplaced or like his heart was sitting the wrong way.

“Is it alright?” Max flipped on the light and Billy raised his eyebrows as he looked around his room. The bed was new and a full instead of a twin with a fluffy new comforter. He had a proper vanity instead of a stack of crates and a bookshelf with a bunch of shiny new books in it. There were t-shirts still in the packaging stacked on his dresser and even a couple packs of Marlboros on his nightstand. The carpet still bore the tracks of a vacuum.

“Damn, you guys must have been bored,” Billy said, chuckling. “Whoa…” 

There was a brand new black leather jacket hanging in his closet. There were shirts and sweaters and new pants. 

“Yeah, I guess we went overboard,” Max said. She leaned on his dresser and fidgeted with the pendant of his necklace that she was still wearing. “But the government gave out another settlement, did you know? So we figured that’s your money anyway really.” She took off the necklace then and handed it over. The dim light of the room hit her eyes a certain way and they suddenly seemed impossibly blue, just like his. “This is yours. I was just holding it for you.”

He took the necklace and put it on, feeling some tension inside him ease a bit with the familiar thin chain around his neck. “Can’t believe you gave Harrington that box, ya little snoop.”

“Yeah, look how it turned out!” Max said, grinning. He reached over and gave her red ponytail a flick. 

“Yeah, it turned out alright,” he grumbled. And because he was feeling especially mushy that day he said, “Thanks, Pippi Longstocking.”

She rolled her eyes and cuffed him on the shoulder. “You look really different with short hair, you know,” she said. “Younger, I guess.”

She yawned dramatically and Billy gave her a playful shove. “Go to bed, kid. If you fall asleep on my floor I’m gonna leave you there.”

“Yeah yeah,” she mumbled, heading for the door. “Um, Mrs. Byers wants to have us over for dinner tomorrow? And El and Chief Hopper are going? And Steve can come?”

“Okay,” he said. “Sure. Whatever.”

That didn’t sound so bad. That certainly didn’t sound like anything the shadow could touch.

Max went to bed finally and Susan had gone to bed, but Billy had slept plenty on the plane and anyway he was ahead of the jet lag now and feeling edgy and he wondered if Steve was home yet. 

Would it be so bad to head over to Steve’s house?

He could always leave Susan a note…

Although, they had not discussed it. Would Steve think it was _weird_-

“_Billy_.” Something tapped his window and Billy plopped down on his bed and crawled over to raise the blind. Steve was on the other side of the glass, smiling hopefully. 

Billy bit his lip and Steve leaned back as Billy opened the window letting in a flurry of snow.

“What’re you doing out there?” Billy said, helping him crawl inside.

“I dunno,” Steve said, brushing snowflakes off his parka. “I hung out with Dustin and Robin a while and then I went home and…” He swallowed and batted his eyes and the moonlight through the window and the snowflakes on his eyelashes made Billy dizzy. “And I missed you?”

Billy helped Steve off with his parka and Steve kicked off his shoes and got comfy on top of the bed next to Billy who could not take his eyes off the boy with the big, soft hair and even softer gaze. 

“Just saw me a couple hours ago,” Billy said, fidgeting. He squinted back at Steve. “And that was after spending every second together for what, days. I mean-”

“I _missed _you,” Steve said again, and licked his lips. “Is that...cool?”

Billy opened and closed his mouth and finally managed to say, “You promise?”

“Yeah,” Steve said gravely. “I promise.”

“I missed you too,” Billy said lightly. “Now get in bed with me and show me how much.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, stripping off his shirt.

* * *

“Oh…” Steve’s cock was inside Billy and he was looking down at him like maybe Billy had invented the universe. “Oh...God...Oh my God…”

Billy couldn’t think of anything to say at all with his legs pushed back, Steve on top of him, and the two of them slicked with sweat. He couldn’t begin to stifle the tears sliding down his cheeks.

Steve Harrington was inside him and looking at him like he was everything.

“I love you,” Billy said, or maybe he had just mouthed it or hadn’t said it at all. He wasn’t sure. His mind was in a riot, his arms wrapped around Steve who was in him and breathing and unbearably warm and thrusting gently, just enough to tease and make Billy see stars because he had already come once and was still a little sensitive. So he was shaking uncontrollably as Steve pushed in and rubbed the pad of his thumb along Billy’s bottom lip. 

“I love you too,” Steve said.

“D-don’t say that if-”

“_I love you too_.” 

Steve kept saying it as he pushed in deeper until by blind luck he hit that magic little spot that made Billy yell and Steve laughed and covered his mouth because Billy had already strongly suggested they at least try to keep it down several times.

But he didn’t tell Billy to be quiet.

He just kept saying “I love you” over and over, even later when he was no longer swept up in things and they had both come again and after _Steve_ had wept and held him close. He’d spoken it into Billy’s skin as if Billy’s body should absorb the words.

Steve kept saying it at two in the morning as they lay under a sheet, the moonlight shining through the blinds, and the snow falling outside, as Marlboro smoke spiraled between them while they passed the cigarette back and forth.

“I love you,” Steve said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN, THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS. I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN ENJOYING THIS.


	15. Chapter 15

_Six months later…_

“Goddammit,” Steve said.

He took off the sky blue polo he’d been wearing and changed into a pink one just as he heard the heavy-footed thump of Robin behind him and he spun around, grunting as the shirt ruffled his hair.

“The blue’s better,” Robin said. Her mouth was full of Fritos as she plopped down on his bed. “I mean with the pink shirt and the grey jacket you look like you’re going to a _Miami Vice_ convention.”

“That’s the point,” Steve grumbled. “And where have you been?”

“Raiding your fridge.”

“How’s my hair?”

“It’s fine!” Robin rolled her eyes. “You look great, dingus. I don’t know what you’re so nervous about.”

“I’m not _nervous_.” He sighed and changed back into the blue shirt, nodding in approval this time before fussing with his hair. “It’s just you know…”

“Six months,” Robin said knowingly.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He dabbed on just a hint of cologne because Billy liked it. But Steve tried not to wear too much because Billy always wore too much which _Steve_ liked, but the scents occasionally went to war when they were in close proximity. “Six months. Plus… This is the first time we’ve done like...a fancy dinner? And when we were in Russia, I told him I would take him out for a steak. I made a big deal about it. And it’s been six months and I never did it-”

“Oh my gosh.” Robin sprang up from the bed again and wiped her salty fingers on her jeans. She smiled and walked up to Steve, reaching to straighten his jacket and pop the collar of his polo, even if it did look totally douchey in her opinion. “Please calm down. Billy’s madly in love with you and he’s going to love his present. I’ll bet he cries. Besides, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t get your fancy dinner. There’s been so much going on.”

Steve nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “Yeah… He barely wanted to leave the house when he came back. And he was going to counseling a lot and then the Byers moving back and then _he_ moved and…yeah. Busy.”

He smiled to himself. Things were busy, but they’d made time for each other, even if it hadn’t been at a fancy restaurant. There had been a lot of burgers in the Beamer and heated make-out sessions and blow-jobs down at the quarry and more passionate lovemaking in his room.

It had been a blissful six months really, even when Billy had his bad days. Steve was always there for him to lean on. 

“I’m really glad you guys found each other, Steve.” Robin smiled brightly. She had a little twinkle in her eye and it made Steve smile too. But he was sure the twinkle had less to do with his and Billy’s six-month anniversary and more to do with the cute little blonde in the Cyndi Lauper skirts from Hawkins Music who’d been mooning over Robin as of late.

“Thanks.” Steve punched her shoulder and checked his watch. “Shit! I gotta go. We got reservations and traffic’s gonna be brutal getting to Muncie. Am I good?”

He checked his hair in the dresser mirror one more time and spun around to face Robin again, throwing out his arms.

“You’re perfect, dingus.”

* * *

“Goddammit,” Billy said.

“Are you ready yet!” Max hollered from all the way downstairs and Billy rolled his eyes.

“HOLD YOUR HORSES!” He shouted back. He took a breath and ran his hand through his moussed hair. It had finally grown to a length he felt more comfortable with, curling under his ears. 

“STOP SHOUTING!” Hopper thundered all the way from the kitchen and Billy snorted. 

“Hair looks stupid,” he muttered. The curls wouldn’t quite tame themselves. The humidity of a Hawkins summer kept making them frizz.

“No, it looks pretty.” El spoke softly from his doorway and when he turned to look at her, she smiled. “You smell nice too.”

He reached over to tousle her hair, making her giggle.

“Thanks.” Billy bounced on his toes and grabbed the simple black tie Hopper had agreed to loan him. El giggled as he muttered obscenities, glaring at himself in the mirror as he attempted to tie it. “Goddamn… Why do I need a tie to eat!”

“Yeah!” El said. “Why do you need a tie to eat?”

“I dunno. It’s stupid.” He headed downstairs, El on his heels. Tying a tie properly had seemed like a simple feat, but he was clueless. The knob on the banister at the foot of the stairs came off as Billy rounded it, and for what seemed like the millionth time, he sighed and put it back. “I hate this house.”

It wasn’t even a little bit true. 

The house was on Norton Avenue just six blocks from Steve’s place. It had taken some time to get settled. But when a very alive Hopper had lured Joyce and her brood back to Hawkins, he’d sold off his cabin and his trailer and still had enough of a nest egg to put some money down on a fixer upper in the nicer part of town that could hold both the Byers and the strays Hopper had picked up along the way. 

“Hey, man. You look good,” Jonathan said, as he passed him heading up the stairs. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Billy said, tossing him a nod.

That El was like his sister now, made sense to him. That Will and Jonathan were a little bit like his brothers...was much weirder. Though it came with its advantages. Jonathan always knew where to get weed and Will knew what it was like to be possessed by the shadow. It wasn’t too bad have them around...even if Jonathan was an awful punk and played shitty garage music that warred with his metal.

“You love this house, liar,” Max said, laughing. She was sprawled on the couch, next to Joyce, who smiled at him over the top of a _Marie Claire_. Max didn’t live at Hopper’s place, though she might as well have for how much time she spent there. When Susan had found a less expensive house to rent in Hawkins and Hopper had offered Billy the room, the house on Cherry Lane had been left behind. But Max still lived close enough to easily skateboard to Hopper’s house so Billy saw her just as much.

The Hopper House was big and it had ugly wood paneling and a lime green kitchen and some weird mirrored closet doors with ugly orange decals still stuck to them and shag carpeting of various shades in almost every room. It was firmly stuck in the 70s, and Max insisted it was also haunted. Billy’s room was small, but he could climb up to the roof from his window and smoke weed there with Byers or make out with Steve whenever he wanted, and Hopper had bought a crappy pool table second-hand that he’d stuck in the rec room in the basement...

Billy _loved_ the place.

“Whatever,” Billy mumbled. “But I fuckin’ hate this tie.”

“Language.” Hopper leaned in the doorway. He was eating an apple (at Joyce’s insistence) and he frowned at Billy’s tie that hung undone around his neck. He was wearing a nice white button-down with jeans and the leather jacket Susan had given him on his return from Russia. All Steve had said was “tie and jacket” because of some stupid Muncie restaurant’s dress code. He figured this had to fit the bill and if it didn’t, he was likely to throw a fit if he missed out on his six-month anniversary steak. “Problem with the tie?”

“I don’t know how to tie it, alright!” Billy exploded, half out of his mind with nerves. He had not seen Steve in over twenty-four hours and for them, it might as well have been a year. 

Will giggled from his spot on the floor and shared a knowing glance with El who plopped down beside him.

“I can help you, honey,” Joyce said, and started to get up before Hopper waved her away.

“No, no,” Hopper said. “He should learn this from me. Big moment learning to tie a tie.”

Joyce was beaming at him as Hopper set his apple down and stood close to Billy who pursed his lips and tipped his head back as Hopper fixed his collar up and showed him how to make the knot.

“I’ll show you how to do this again sometime,” Hopper said. “Can’t escape ties, I don’t care how much you like your Metallica shirts and all that. Fat end over the skinny end...through the hole here… and around…”

Billy watched him, trying to memorize the movements. He loathed wearing a tie on principle, but for Steve...he didn’t so much mind. And the fancy dinner date was a long time coming.

“Aw, it’s like their first date,” Max chirped from the couch.

“We’ve been on tons of dates,” Billy mumbled.

“But this one’s like _prom_,” Max said.

“Oh!” Joyce hopped up from the couch. “I should take a picture!”

“Nooo.” Billy groaned and Hopper laughed at him as he finished up the tie and folded Billy collar down over it, helping him straighten his leather jacket. 

“You’re not getting out of here without a picture now,” Hopper said. “Besides, she’s making up a whole photo album since we moved in.”

Billy knew all about the photo album. Jonathan had bought it for his mom when she’d married Hop at the Justice of the Peace with a flurry of hyperactive teenagers looking on.

“I _know. _I could barely move the boxes on moving day, the Instamatic was always in my face.” Billy rolled his eyes but Hopper only chortled at him. Everyone knew how fond Billy was of Joyce these days. 

“You look real sharp,” Hopper said, patting his shoulder. “Cologne’s kinda strong.”

“Steve likes it that way,” Billy murmured.

“Oh well…” Hopper raised his hands. “Far be it from me…”

“Okay okay okay!” Joyce jogged over, camera in hand, and Billy sighed heavily as she directed him where to stand and when to smile and then demanded pictures with Billy and everyone in the room until he was about to blow a gasket, as much as he was fond of Joyce. 

When Jonathan came back downstairs and Joyce insisted on a picture of “all of her boys” Billy gritted his teeth. “Last one!” He said.

Joyce only laughed. “Silly. Of course, I’ll need one with you and Steve.”

“Goddammit.”

Max could not contain her amusement.

The unmistakable sound of the Beemer pulling into the driveway started Billy’s heart racing and he swallowed. “Woops. He’s here. Gotta go.” He made for the door and Hopper blocked his way, frowning and pointing his apple at Billy.

“Hold on,” Hopper said. “He should come to the door.”

“_Chief_.” Billy narrowed his eyes. “He doesn’t have to come to the door. I’m usually outside smoking when he drives-”

“Well, you’re not now,” Hopper said gravely. “He should come to the door. That’s what a gentleman does.”

Jonathan and Will were both snickering. Billy looked to Joyce for help and she just shrugged and said, “He’s right.”

“Hop!” Billy said.

“Let’s just see if he comes to the door,” Hopper said. “If he honks, I’m gonna have to have a conversation-”

“Oh Jesus.”

Billy walked to the window, so impatient to see Steve he thought he might explode. But arguments with Hopper so often went nowhere. The only person more stubborn was Joyce, in his experience. Steve was sitting in his Beemer, checking his hair in the rearview. Billy watching him tap his fingers on the wheel before getting out of the car, and his heart turned some cartwheels as he shrank back from the window.

_He’s coming to the door_.

There was something to that. He bit back a smile.

Everyone now crowded into the living room froze, silent, until the doorbell rang. It was tinny and offkey, but Joyce found it “endearing” and wouldn’t let Hopper change it.

“He came to the door!” El said, clapping her hands.

“See?” Hopper said. “Now we know.”

Jonathan couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

“I hate all of you,” Billy lied, and he all but ran to answer the door, throwing it open. 

All the tensions seemed to leave his body, when he saw Steve standing there even if his heart was still racing. 

“Hey,” Billy said. 

Steve grinned at him. “Hey. You look _great_.”

“So do you,” Billy muttered, looking Steve up and down and wishing his entire family wasn’t staring.

Steve was wearing a grey suit with a blue polo and his hair was in rare form even for Steve, styled up and swooping and waving like some rockstar. He looked like the cover of a magazine.

Except-

“You’re not wearing a tie!” Billy pointed a finger at Steve’s chest. “You said I had to wear a tie!”

“I said a jacket,” Steve said, shrugging. “But you look so good-”  


“I _hate_ wearing a tie,” Billy said, gritting his teeth. “You _said_ jacket and tie.”

“I meant-”  


“Come, let me take a picture!” Tiny Joyce peeked over Billy’s shoulder, waving her Instamatic in Steve’s face. “Come in! Come in! It’ll only take a second!”

“Oh… Well, we have a reservation…”

Steve resisted but was swiftly swallowed by the house where it took ten minutes and a promise that he would come over for a family dinner (not that he hadn’t already been to more informal dinners at the Hopper-Byers residence a thousand times by now, it seemed) before they made it out the door.

“You said I had to wear a tie,” Billy grumbled as they finally climbed into the BMW.

“I’m sorry!” But Steve was still smiling. “I meant to just say jacket. I’m not even sure that qualifies but the tie might make up for it.”

“I’m taking this off,” Billy mumbled.

“No!” Steve leaned over from the driver’s seat and tugged on Billy’s tie, pulling him close enough to kiss. “Don’t,” he whispered. “It’s hot. And I can pull on it…”

“Yeah?” Billy bit his lip and kissed Steve’s bottom lip just once, teasing him, before pulling away again. “You look sexy, babe. Like Don Johnson. Except hotter.”

“Well, that was my aim,” Steve said, and kissed him firmly.

* * *

“You sure people won’t stare and shit?” Billy said, as Steve _finally_ pulled into the parking lot for Fiorina’s which was an even nicer looking place than Billy had been expecting. “Two guys having dinner…”

“We go out to eat all the time,” Steve said with a snort. “I used to go get food with Tommy like every other night…”

“Yeah, but that’s like getting a slice or a burger with your buddy,” Billy said. “Not sitting down for a fancy dinner.”

“Oh.” Steve shrugged. “Nah. My parents took me to this swank place in the city a few weeks ago and there were all kinds of suits having dinner together. It’s not as noticeable as you think it is.”

“Just don’t like people staring,” Billy mumbled.

He was always catching people staring around Hawkins. Except it had nothing to do with Steve and more to do with having been presumed dead.

But when people did seem to notice Steve and Billy together and Billy was feeling especially feisty, anyone who gave him a dirty look was likely to find their popcorn mysterious flying into the air and dumping out over their head or their ice cream escaping from their hand. Max never failed to find this amusing even if Hopper had a strict “no powers in public rule.”

Steve pulled into a spot and when the car was parked, he pulled him in by the tie again. “Boy, I could get used to this,” he whispered, and Billy was about to tell him he was dreaming, but then Steve’s tongue when his mouth and he found himself unable to think at all.

Steve kissed as if immortality could be found in the mouth of Billy Hargrove, as if he was saying “I love you” every time their lips touched and Billy was often left breathless.

“I have something for you,” Steve said. He stroked Billy's cheek, his soft brown eyes glittering. 

“Me too. Just a...thing.” Billy flushed, hating how flustered he still got around Steve even after six months.

But Steve lit up and grinned as they finally got out of the car. “Yeah? I didn’t like...expect anything.”

“I mean six months is something, right?” Billy said sheepishly. Steve came up next to him, hooking their pinkies together. He was holding two small boxes under his other arm. “Didn’t really think it would last this long to tell you the truth-”  


“_What_!” Steve gaped at him bug-eyed.  


“Not saying I was right, sweetcheeks,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “Just that I was fucked up and… I’m not used to a good thing. Definitely not used to anything as good as you. That’s all.”

Steve leaned over and whispered, “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed him on the cheek and pretended he didn’t notice Billy’s shy smile because Steve was good like that. “God, you smell amazing.”

“Heh. Yeah, Hop said I was wearing too much,” Billy said, as Steve led him around to the entrance of Fiorina’s. 

“No way!” Steve said. “Screw that. I like it. Gets me all worked up.”

“Easy, tiger,” Billy said. “We haven’t even eaten yet.”

* * *

“I can’t believe I didn’t need to wear a tie.” 

Billy was having a good time, even if the restaurant was a little stuffy (it was fun to mock the yuppies with Steve especially since Steve seemed like such a yuppie himself) and even if he couldn’t throw Steve down on the table in front of the snooty waiters (they’d already groped in the men’s room). But he couldn’t help reminding Steve yet again of his mistake since it had cost him so dearly.

“Mrs. Henderson _told_ me there was a dress code,” Steve said, grinning even as he pretended to be annoyed.

At this point, the whole tie thing had become a running joke.

“But the T-bone?” Steve waved his fork.

“Oh, the T-bone is worth it,” Billy muttered. He wished restaurants had seconds. The food was the best he’d had in ages as much as he loved Joyce’s macaroni and cheese. “So when do I get my present, huh?” 

Steve’s mysterious boxes had been driving Billy crazy for an hour.

“What about _my_ present?” Steve said, bouncing a little in his seat. “Huh? Huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Billy shrugged. “It’s not much. It’s just…”

Steve gave him the puppy eyes under which Billy was helpless and he snorted and reached into his pocket, taking out a ring that he set on the table in front of Steve. “There.”

His Hawkins High class ring sat in front of Steve. It gleamed silver with an aquamarine stone.

Susan had helped him buy the ring when he’d graduated, thinking it was important even if Neil didn’t. The ring said ‘Hawkins High’ around the stone. It said ‘Billy’on one side and 85 on the other and Billy had fantasized about giving it to Steve since June of 1985 around the time he’d written Steve his long love letter.

“S’probably too big for you,” Billy babbled. “It was always tight on me, but maybe you gotta get it resized, I dunno-”

Steve took off his class ring and slipped Billy’s on in its place. “No. It’s perfect.” 

“Oh.” Billy nodded, helpless against under the sunshine of Steve’s smile. “Well… You’ve been working out a lot. Packin’ it on.”

“Maybe it was fate,” Steve said. He kept staring at Billy’s ring on his own finger and as if just remembering something, he slid his own class ring across the table at Billy. “Here.”

Billy swallowed. Steve’s ring was gold with a peridot stone and it seemed somehow more important than Billy’s. Or anyway, Billy had not expected it, but he slipped the ring on and stared at it next to the thin silver band around is index finger and the black ring Steve had given him for Valentine’s Day. It looked like it belonged on his hand.

Billy stuck his hand under the table and swallowed the lump in his throat. The very last thing he needed was to start bawling in the middle of some fancy restaurant around older couples murmuring over their escargot.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the chair where Steve’s boxes sat. Steve grinned and to Billy’s mind, he looked so pretty under the restaurant’s soft candlelight and wearing his adoring expression that Billy wished there was a camera in existence that could capture it.

“You’re gonna call me a big cornball,” Steve said. But he sighed and picked one of the boxes up, setting it on the table in front of Billy. “Go ahead.”

Billy smirked and scrambled to grab the box. The cardboard box and lid were wrapped separately and it was not tied with a bow. He opened it, expecting some kind of _gift_ but what he got instead was better and he felt a little stupid for not having guessed it.

There were pictures of Billy. Some of them were older, obviously taken by Max or Susan when Billy was a little younger. But many were newer. There were Polaroids of Billy taken since the two of them had returned from Russia; Billy with his still buzzed hair bundled up in a parka and sitting on his bed, Billy shirtless and sprawled on Steve’s bed on Valentine’s night, Billy sitting on Steve’s kitchen counter eating Kix out of the box, Billy sitting next to Max by Steve’s pool with their bare feet dunked in the water as they smiled sardonically at Steve’s camera. There were mementos too. The receipt from their first real date when they’d come back Hawkins which was really a receipt for takeout that Steve had brought to Billy because he hadn’t wanted to leave Susan’s place. Love notes Billy had written to Steve (most of them dirty) and left in his pockets before he went to work. A gum wrapper from a pack of Big Red they’d bought on moving day along with a bunch of junk food to “keep their strength.” The Junior Mints box from the first time they’d gone to the movies together. An empty bottle of Billy’s favorite cologne.

It seemed like there were already countless memories of the two of them and it had only been six months.

“It’s a Billy box,” Steve said softly. “And… Okay look, I was _going_ to write a letter. Like originally. But I couldn’t get the words out. You’re better at that stuff even when you’re drunk. And I really tried. But in the end… I had a different idea that says what I want to say better. Yeah?”

_I’m not gonna cry like a little bitch_, Billy thought. But he coughed and had to take a long drink of water to fight back his tears. He’d always been a cryer and constantly frustrated and embarrassed by it. But now his tears were just as often for _happy_ things and even if the sight of him crying because he was moved or overwhelmed with affection seemed to please Steve, he always at least attempted to fight the urge.

But then Steve placed his second box on the table.

The second box was not just a cardboard shoebox. It was a shiny wooden box that looked like a miniature Hope chest. It was old too and it had a worn looking lock on the front of it.

“This was my mom’s,” Steve said, looking sheepish. “She used to put keepsakes in it but then her mom gave her a big chest for that stuff so she gave me this for keepsakes and nothing ever seemed quite good enough to put in it. But…”

This was clearly the real gift and Billy had a sense that something important was about to happen and he nodded jerkily. “‘Kay… What’s it for then?”

“This is..._our_ box,” Steve said. “Open it.”

Billy warily eyed Steve. His fingertips were tingling.

_Our box_.

A box about both of them. 

Billy opened the box. It was empty except for a pack of Soviet matches. There was just one match left in the pack.

“Those are the matches you used to cook me fish on the train,” Steve said. He sounded choked up himself and when Billy looked at him, his eyes were watery. 

Billy sniffed and sat back in his seat, unable to stop the tear that slid down his cheek. He coughed and muttered, “Ugh...fuck you, dude.”

Steve blurted a laugh at that. “Yeah, Robin said you’d cry.”

It took Billy a lot of phony bluster and sniffing and fidgeting with his napkin to compose himself and he nodded and said, “That’s pretty good,” in the understatement of perhaps the entire decade. “You big cornball.”

“_You_ started it,” Steve said. “With that goddamn Steve Harrington box. And that goddamn _letter_.”

“Jewelry’s a good present too, ya know,” Billy said, grinning now and running his fingers along the smooth dark wood of the Billy and Steve Box.

“You son of a bitch,” Steve said, giggling and wiping his eyes. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEEEYYY thank you for your comments. I am Flippyspoon on Tumblr! Hope you enjoyed this story- I'm so relieved I finished it!


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